


Loss

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late-night call from the Nemesis to the Ark causes Prowl to glitch and turns everything upside down. But what’s wrong with Starscream?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkness

Title: Loss  
Author: Kit SummerIsle  
Verse: G1, slightly AU-ish  
Character(s): Starscream, Ratchet, Prowl, ensemble  
Rating: T  
Warnings: mentioning of torture, violence, rape (not detailed); threesome, mpreg, abortion; sticky and spark sex  
Summary: A late-night call from the Nemesis to the Ark causes Prowl to glitch and turns everything upside down. But what’s wrong with Starscream?  
Disclaimer: the usual. not owning it, just fooling around with TF  
Note: I use joor for a few hours, orn for a few days, groon for a few months and vorn for a few years.

 

Ark

The beeping was unnaturally loud in the late night silence of the Ark’s Command Center. It came from the communications console, rarely used since they lost contact with Cybertron and the humans used a much cruder version of it, separate from Teletraan to contact to their allies. Red Alert twitched nervously in consequence, already thinking of virtually the only one who used it to taunt them with their leader’s fate – Megatron. Blaster apparently thought the same as he answered the signal, but the visage that appeared on the screen was not the familiar, sneering, gloating warlord’s.

“I want to speak to acting commander Prowl.” – Starscream announced coldly. There was something strange on his normally sneering face, something that Blaster couldn’t indentify, but what made him feel a deep unease. He was far more sure of himself than lately that was for sure, he thought as he contacted Prowl about the news but still, he had that glint in the red optics that was something else.  
“He’ll be here in a klik.” – he answered to the Decepticon SIC, who nodded silently. It wasn’t like Starscream not to use the time and opportunity to snipe or taunt him either, just out of enjoyment and Blaster was getting worried. Prowl arrived soon as he promised and after a glance at the screen he too became even more serious. Blaster knew that the former SIC blamed himself for Optimus Prime’s capture, even though everyone else insisted that he couldn’t do anything more. He was half deactivated as it were when they discovered him at the site of the ambush and nobody has seen Optimus ever since, not even the risky missions to the Nemesis brig gave any results.

“Starscream. What is it you wish to discuss?” – unfailingly polite, even in the mental state he was lately – that was Prowl.  
“I have a… favor to ask.” – it was clear that to say that aloud pained the proud Seeker more than any physical injury. – “I wish to bargain the services of Ratchet for a while.”  
Prowl stared at the screen so motionless that Blaster started to get worried that he glitched again. He hadn’t had a glitch since he had to take command, as he couldn’t afford to have one. Red Alert behind though was visibly sparking and twitching and Blaster hurriedly contacted to Ratchet to call the medic there – it wouldn’t do to have the two highest ranking officer glitch on him at the same time, besides it was about him this time.  
“Why? And what exactly do you wish to bargain with?” – Prowl seemed to collect himself after a few, tense kliks.  
“For medical services obviously. And I’m willing to give you a cease-fire for it, as long as you wish.” – Starscream looked almost… eager to bargain, which was definitely something new.  
“Why should we trust you with our CMO’s life? You are known to deceive and betray agreements. Besides such an agreement should involve your leader.”  
“Megatron is dead. I lead the Decepticons now.”

The statement caused all four of them – including Ratchet who has just arrived to the command center – to freeze in utter shock. It was such an unbelievable statement, announced in a normal, non-gloating, non-exulting voice that they immediately dismissed it as a bad joke. But Starscream didn’t seem to laugh at their incredulous faces. He was waiting for them to react, like it was natural for him to take command. Which, in a way was, if they thought about it, it was just something they never thought would become reality.

“You did… what?”  
“I killed Megatron just as I said.” – the other side of the visual pickup shifted and Soundwave’s unmistakable visage came into focus and his flat drone echoed through the loudspeaker.  
“Statement: correct. Lord Megatron: deactivated. Starscream: leader of Decepticons.”

The Autobots present heard the announcement in something like a dream. It could still be a ploy, a devious plan but Blaster couldn’t even start to imagine why it would be beneficial to them to act like Megatron was dead. Or how they convinced the tyrant to play that part if it was a deception. Or any number of impossible things with this scenario.

“In that case my other question still stands. Why do you need a medic and how can we trust you with his life?” – Prowl looked like he was running scenarios, which made Blaster somewhat calmer – if he had that on his processor he wouldn’t glitch. Red Alert furiously nodded behind to his questions, knowing better than to interrupt the conversation, but disagreeing with any arrangement that would let an Autobot be in Decepticon hands on general principles.  
“We have no medic any more.” – Starscream paused, clearly weighing whether he should tell more and deciding in favor of it – “Since Megatron deactivated Scrapper and the rest of the Constructicons left Earth. As for assurances, I am willing to offer a hostage in exchange while Ratchet stays with us. Provided that he agrees.”  
“Who?” – Prowl was actually considering the bargain, Blaster saw. Ratchet nodded his assent mutely but referred to the acting commander with the final decision. He wasn’t going to volunteer blindly but they all knew that Ratchet took the medical oath seriously. If he could do safely without endangering himself or the Autobots, he would help even a Decepticon.  
“Soundwave volunteered for that role.” – it was getting queer, how many times the Seeker could surprise them in one short discussion. Soundwave… if he was serious then it must have been something major. Blaster looked over the Seeker’s visible upper part carefully. Superficially he looked fine, but the boombox had learned to read the Aerialbots’ wings and if the jet’s were anything similar, he was in no little distress. Maybe injured in the fight with Megatron? Or his Trine-mates? Both would explain the desperation for a medic’s services. Despite of the appearances, the Seeker Trine was very close, closer than most Autobots thought them to be.  
“I’m still not sure why we should trust you. You need energon, so why would you offer a cease-fire?”  
“We don’t have to steal energon from the humans any more.” – Starscream seemingly hasn’t run out of his little surprise-bombshells and they realized suddenly that the last Decepticon raid was quite a while ago. – “I created a suitable energon converter which covers our needs. And…” – he paused, hesitating like the real surprise was still to come – “I want the cease-fire to discuss terms for a permanent peace treaty.”

That finally sent Prowl’s logic center glitching. Blaster shut down the connection with a hurried ‘we’ll come back in a breem’ while Ratchet rebooted Prowl. As soon as he was online again, the ex-SIC called Jazz and Ironhide there for a hurried conference. As could have been expected, Ironhide and Red Alert didn’t believe the Seeker and advised Prowl to refuse the offer, while Jazz was willing to consider it and after explaining what he saw on the Seeker Blaster too added his support. The possibility of a peace was worth taking a few risks and Starscream did look uncharacteristically sober and honest, even offering Soundwave as hostage. In the end Prowl decided to take the risk.

“Starscream, I am willing to consider what you asked. Nevertheless we want to ask why this sudden change in policy.”  
“I’m willing to discuss ideology with you all vorn long if that is your wish but the problem that requires a medic’s services is kinda urgent. Can we agree in that part first?” – Starscream’s pained grimace was one that neither of them missed this time.  
“As you wish. I agree that with Soundwave being our guest Ratchet can go over and do whatever he can for you. With some conditions naturally.”  
“Not for me.” – this time he betrayed a little vulnerability that very few saw from the proud Seeker before.  
“Whoever needs it then.” – Prowl by this time was fairly sure that it must have been one of his wingmates. “How long do you need Ratchet?”  
“A few orns probably.” – Starscream watched the still suspicious Autobots and sighed inwardly. He didn’t want them to tell this prematurely but it seemed that he had to.  
“To prove you my honest intentions, when he returns he can take your Prime with him.”  
“WHAT?” – the yell came from Ironhide who took Optimus’s fate the hardest, but they all felt like shouting it with him. After the ambush when he disappeared they sent a number of spies to the Nemesis, but found no sign of the Prime being there and consequently they were forced to conclude that he had been deactivated. The few times when Megatron called them and taunted them with his fate he also alluded him to be dead. Although they kept up the search, the façade of calling Prowl only acting commander, but deep down the officers all felt that it was just a vain hope and not a possibility that he was somehow alive.  
“I must demand you to elaborate on this, Starscream.” – Prowl was the closest to angry that he ever got, with doorwings flexing up and out, framing his body and his voice was ice-cold.  
“Very well. He was captured and Megatron kept him in his quarters. I think you can guess for what.” – the distaste was rolling off Starscream in visible waves – “He is the one I need your medic for, because he can’t be moved, as I wanted to discuss the peace treaty with him up and taking an active part in it. He is easier to talk to than you with all your prejudices.”  
“I think we must speak with him first.”  
“You can’t. Right now he is blind, mute, deaf and I don’t think he can move any parts at all. As we don’t have a medic, I could only ensure that he is not bleeding out.”  
“Ratchet is going straight away.” – Prowl was pale in the faceplates and his voice betrayed the extreme stress he was under. Ratchet silently got out of the command center to collect his tools and parts he might need. – “Can any of us accompany him?”  
“Negative. I can ensure a medic’s safety on the Nemesis, but not another Autobot’s.”  
“Any visuals then at least?”  
“Pit damn you Prowl, do you really want to see your Prime as a mangled pile of defiled parts?!?” – Starscream exploded. – I wanted to spare you – and him later – that sight! Can’t you believe me for once and act? I gave you all assurances that I could, save serving the Decepticon army on a silver platter!”  
Prowl still looked like he was verging on the edge of demanding to know more and sending off Ratchet straight away. In the end, he decided to trust Starscream – a first from him but he too noticed the odd behaviour of the Seeker.  
“We will go at once. But I must insist on Ratchet being able to contact us if needed.”  
“He can do that with no problem. I won’t have Soundwave to block his signals anyway.”

It was a tense joor while the uninformed and bemused Skyfire carried them to the rendezvous point. Once there they saw the two waiting figures; the blocky, big shape of the stasis locked Soundwave – they couldn’t afford him to read their processors while on the Ark - and the nervous, angry but holding it back Skywarp. He didn’t talk any at all, just dropped the telepath, grabbed Ratchet’s wrist and jumped away. It was the strangest hostage-exchange Blaster ever had the misfortune to observe and from the bemused optics of the others, the same was true for them too. On the way back he realized that none of them spoke a single word since they started out.

 

Nemesis

Ratchet decided after the second jump that he hated teleporting. It didn’t help that he was nervous and apprehensive, and neither did the fact that their nanoklik-long wayward stop was over the ocean and in freefall. The Seeker might have been used to it but he certainly wasn’t; but the next jump fortunately prevented him from throwing up in mid-air. Their last stop was in a smelly, barely lit room that he identified as the Nemesis arrival chamber. Apparently Skywarp decided to forego the tower-lift which was the usual way in and out of the sunken spaceship.  
The doorway opened and Starscream stood there, silently nodding to the medic and motioning to go with them in the also darkish corridor. The two Seekers protectively moved on to the two sides of him and Ratchet suddenly remembered what the flier said about not being able to guarantee the safety of other Autobots with him. There must be still opposition against his rule, he deduced, those who were either still loyal to Megatron or wanting the leadership for themselves. Both of them were alert and not the kind of self-assured mechs who were firmly entrenched in power. Skywarp was positively jittery on his right, his wings shuddering with every step he took.  
The door where they arrived almost shouted that it was Megatron’s. Big, strong, stark metal doubly reinforced, decorated only with a huge Decepticon logo. Inside, it was dark with only a single ceiling light trying to fight the blackness and it stank of rotten energon and stale oil. The entry room furniture was overturned and covered in energon splotches, the walls discoloured and burnt with weapons discharge – obvious signs of a struggle, Ratchet thought, possibly the one that put Starscream into power. In the next doorway there were more light coming out in slants from the warped door.  
“That way.” – Starscream directed him towards the lighter room, presumably a berthroom and Ratchet idly observed that Skywarp was almost flush with the tricoloured Seeker, like an overprotective bodyguard.  
It was a berthroom all right, with the huge, Megatron-sized berth by the back wall, somewhat obscured by a desk and a datapad-rack that stood at an angle by the door. The stench of energon was even stronger here and it was mixed with other mech fluids – Ratchet jerked painfully as he identified the transfluid smells among them. The deep, dark, desperate void that started to grow inside him shuddered as he scanned the room for the source of the smells. Starscream stopped at the doorway with talons in tight fists beside him and his vents straining to clear the smell from them. Skywarp hovered by him still, faintly growling from deep in his chest.  
Ratchet felt that it was not directed at him and neither towards Optimus – rather towards the dead warlord whose cold, overpowering presence could be felt in every part of the dark chambers. He felt it too as he moved towards the berth, shuddering uncontrollably, both from the charged, heavy atmosphere and the sickening knowledge that his sensors told him about the misshapen lump on the berth. Starscream was right, no other Autobot should see him like this, was his last coherent thought for a while.  
Ratchet prided himself for being professional in the face of any injury that this wretched war could throw at them. He has seen torture victims of every kind and condition and thought that he could see nothing worse than those. But Megatron had to be a class of his own in this too. When he reached the berth and fastened his shaking servos on the side of it, Ratchet was not sure, for the first time in his existence that he could fix a mech.  
The chains were cut off from him, but the welded bands were still on the limbs, rusted over with energon and fluids. He didn’t resemble a mech. A mangled pile of parts, just as Starscream called it. The only sign of life was the weak and flickering sparklight that, to his horror could be seen by naked optic through the torn and mangled chest plates. There was not a single one of the plating that wasn’t torn, not a square centimeter of unmarred paint on the armour. Darkened, dying protoform matter oozed various fluids from underneath the torn metal scraps. Joints were bared, their rotors and cogs brutally bent out of shape, out of commission. The limbs resembled nothing more than bare, broken struts with torn wires and frayed cables tangled in. All over, the relays and circuitry sparked or was totally dark, silent, offline.  
The head was missing the helm, missing the antennae, the facemask and sporting deep, clawed gouges all over it, especially on the completely destroyed faceplates. The dark optics were not only missing the broken crystals, but their empty holes oozed energon that looked bright tears running down the darkened, burnt metal. Ratchet touched his servo lightly by the gaping mouth, the jaw hinges broken and unable to close up, brushing a silvery stain from it. He didn’t know where to start even.  
He looked back, towards the Seeker who was still standing in the doorway, an inscrutable look on his ashen faceplates. The question was obvious without saying aloud. ‘Why didn’t you let him pass away?’ Starscream shrugged, and Ratchet for a nanoklik saw his own pain in his garnet optics. There was more to this than simply a power struggle and an ambitious SIC advancing by killing his leader. There was always more to it because Starscream was who he was and Megatron… well, he was an abomination of nature apparently, destroying everything around him. But he had a more important job to do than analyze the Decepticon commander’s mental state…  
Ratchet locked down on his feelings and emotions, tucking them into the back of his meta, like always when he was in such situations. Usually it was the twins on his med-bay berth for whom he had to do this, not to let love and caring tremble his servos as he fought to save their lives. But this time… this time he needed all shreds of his professionalism to do the work ahead of him. It was no medbay, he had no monitors, no assistant, only the tools he brought with him. It was an insurmountable task. Nevertheless he would do it.  
Starscream moved again, he saw from the corner of his optics, still silent, pointing one clawed servo to a dark heap behind the berth. For a klik fear rose in a nauseating wave in Ratchet that it was Megatron, not wanting to be near the tyrant’s frame even in deactivated condition, but the shape and the colour was all wrong for him. But the purpose of it was unmistakable. Missing the head, spark-chamber empty and dark, but the size was comparable to the Prime’s.  
“Who was he?”  
“Designation ‘Spare Parts’. – it was Skywarp’s angrily hissing voice snarling the answer to the question, still hovering protectively behind Starscream, wing flaring in violent hostility towards the subject matter.  
All right, Ratchet thought, it was none of his business. Parts would be needed if he was to put Optimus together and maybe he was better off not knowing who ‘donated’ them. He started hesitantly, for the first few joors only cutting away and removing the incredibly damaged outer armour, disconnecting the still sparking wires and clamping off the necessary energon lines. He didn’t dare to think how pitifully little remained when he cleared away the irreparable parts. Sedative or painkiller was totally out of question with his spark as weak as it looked even without a monitor.  
He tried not to react when something jerked under its own power under his servo; there was no way of telling Optimus that it was he doing it, he had no working senses and all hardline interface ports were mangled or destroyed, certainly beyond immediate repair. And that was before he considered what condition his mind would be… if he was here for all the last two months since the ambush, then he might have gone mad from pain and sensory deprivation. And where else could he have been… Ratchet worked like an automaton for the rest of the orn, only stopping when his comm blipped at him and Prowl’s voice came through.

::Ratchet, please report. Is everything all right with you?::  
He gave the agreed code for everything fine and sighed. – ::No, Prowl, nothing is all right really. But Optimus is here, he is alive and I’m working on him… but I dare not even start to describe his condition.::  
::That bad?::  
::Even more. Starscream was right, he can’t be moved, not even to the Nemesis med-bay. I expect another two orns or so before I can consider to move him. He is scrapped, Prowl… I’ve never in my function saw a mech alive this bad.::  
::Megatron did it?:: - Prowl’s voice came through even the comm line as murderously angry.  
::Yes, I have no doubt. He was chained to his berth in his chambers and tortured continuously. Raped too. All the time.:: - he tried to keep his voice even, not letting the despair and anger that he felt colour it.  
::The Cons? Do they leave you alone?::  
::Yes, no problem there. The Nemesis is like a morgue, it is so deadly quiet. I got a decapitated mech for spare parts.::  
::There must have been heavy infighting for succession.::  
::That’s what I thought too. Starscream is… strange somehow and Skywarp keeps to him like a bodyguard. But I don’t want to pry.::  
::No, that might be a bad idea at this point. Just… just bring Optimus back.:: - Prowl cut the line before Ratchet could call his voice emotional.

-o-o-o-

He worked until he was ready to drop in exhaustion and the welder shook in his servo, threatening to cause more harm than repair. He didn’t want to leave Optimus here, no matter that he knew nothing of the outside world or the medic at this point, but he didn’t dare to recharge in this chamber of horrors either. He wanted to work more but he needed at least a breem of break and refueling if nothing else. He took a step towards the doorway hesitantly and leaned to the desk there, but snatched his servo away as he felt the still sticky stains there. Not here too…?

“No, that’s not your Prime’s energon there.” – it was Thundercracker standing in the door with a strange expression, motioning the medic out into the main room. Without saying more he offered a few cubes of energon which Ratchet thankfully accepted, although he brought his own supply too. Dropping a stimulant capsule into one, he sipped the bright liquid, automatically analyzing it for contaminants. There were none and it didn’t taste like the slag that Cons usually condensed from fossil fuels, stolen from human plants.  
“It is good.” – he noted, desperate to break the heavy silence. Thundercracker was just as out of sorts as Skywarp, maybe even more so. But he answered, even though his voice was like it came from a bottom of a well.  
“Star designed us a new converter. It uses the magma from the underwater volcano nearby.”  
“That’s ingenious.”  
“Star is a scientist – when Megatron let him work he made brilliant things.”  
“I knew he was a scientist… Skyfire told us a lot about him.”  
“Skyfire knew him long ago. He is different now.”  
“I’m sure.”

Thundercracker squirmed, his wing alternately perked up and dropped as he looked at Ratchet and then glanced away. To Ratchet it was obvious that he wanted something but didn’t dare to speak – not yet. But he was too tired to wait the Seeker out.  
“You want something.” – he prodded the nervous Seeker verbally.  
“Yes. NO! … You came to fix the Prime…” – he looked positively helpless. What was going on here?  
“I did. But you have a problem anyway. Will you tell me about it? Even if I can’t help you it is good to get it off your shoulders.”  
“It is… it is Star…”  
“I noticed something off with him… what happened? Not an injury, I scanned him.”  
“It is his spark. We can’t fix it…”  
“Okay… I see there is a story that you should tell.”  
“Right… he is… I mean… we are bondmates.” – the blue Seeker blurted it out like it was a secret. Come to think about it, Ratchet thought, on the Nemesis it probably had to be one.  
“We’ve been mates for vorns, but we hid it. No mech knew, not even Soundwave. Not until…” – the shuddering ex-vent had Ratchet look up to him apprehensive, dreading what was to come. – “Until Megatron raped Star. We both felt it, but we were sent away on a mission. He had done it a few times before and it was bad enough, but this time… this time he merged sparks too.”

Ratchet felt like purging. Forcing a spark-merge on a bonded mech was more painful and humiliating than any other interfacing act that Cybertronians could imagine. It was dangerous too, with more than half of the mechs suffering through it deactivating from spark damage within a groon of the act. He couldn’t believe that Starscream, after going through that could still be sane and hide his pain enough to behave the way he did with the Decepticons, the Autobots and in general. He knew that the Seeker was strong and survived millenias of Megatron’s brutal treatment, but it was still a miracle. But Thundercracker wasn’t finished yet.

“That’s not all. Star was sparked up then and when Megatron discovered it, he forced Hook to terminate the sparkling. Threatened his gestalt if he didn’t do it. At the end he did.” – the blue Seeker was almost whispering the last part, no doubt feeling his own share of the pain through the bond. – Could you… could you see his spark before you go back? Star hides it but we feel that he is still in a lot of pain.”  
“I will.” – Ratchet would have done it anyway but it was also common sense to keep the Seekers in power, who could handle the volatile and still dangerous Decepticon army. – “Does he know that you asked…?”  
“No. He is too proud to admit it. He tries to hide it from us too.”  
“It is hard at times like this but the two of you should merge with him as often as he is willing. The pre-existing bond helps his spark stabilizing.”  
“I was sure that it would! But Warp said that we shouldn’t ask Star to do it so soon after… that.”  
“Most rape victims don’t want the familiar merge, refuse it even. It is particularly sad because it truly does them good.”  
Privately Ratchet thought that if Megatron was not in the Pit he was going to whack Primus over his head, should they meet. The slagger definitely managed to frag up the whole of Cybertron, did his slagging best to do the same with Earth and not only tortured and ruined his enemy, Optimus, but even his second. Not to mention countless mechs over the vorns that got into his hands.  
“Did he kill Megatron?” – he asked, more to change the subject for both of them than any real curiosity.  
“We did together.” – came the curt answer. – “Warp was berserk, I’m not much better and Star defended his life at that point. He confronted Megatron over his sparkling and that slagger was going to deactivate him for sure this time. It was messy as you can see.” – he indistinctly swept his servo to point around the ruined quarters.  
“Yeah, I can see that…” – he felt better after the short break and the stimulant did its work as well. He’d regret it later of course, but right now he only wanted to finish putting Optimus back enough to bring back to the Ark. Nodding to the dejected-looking Seeker he went back to his work. Even if Optimus couldn’t sense it in any way, these energon-soaked, wrecked, haunted chambers were not doing him any good. And he could only restore his sensors back in his own med-bay; he had optic lenses but no underlying circuitry that was also melted to slag in his optical sockets. The audials and his vocals he couldn’t even think how to restore just yet.  
He worked for almost a full orn this time, fuelled by the stimulant and the almost compulsive need to make it right, to make him if not a whole mech yet but at least more than a pile of mangled parts. He was incredibly relieved when he finally found a working shutoff relay for the whole pain-sensor network, shut it down and felt a slight shudder under his servos. It must have been strange to lose even more sensory input but since it was only firing pain signals into his processor with which he could do nothing, Ratchet was sure that he didn’t miss them. He had hoped that it gave him a positive signal, that he wasn’t going to be tortured any more, that he was not in Megatron’s servos any more.

-o-o-o-

Starscream knew that he was hiding in the Command Center, burying himself in work and picking fights still with any mech who so much as looked at him doubtfully. Not that he could hide from Skywarp who was determined to become his shadow lately and stuck to him with a determination that he formerly only employed to his pranks. He was hovering by his shoulder right now too as he bent over a malfunctioning console to fix. With both Soundwave and the Structies gone he was about the only one qualified to fix delicate circuitry. But at least immersing himself into this work saved him from thinking too much about other things.  
But in accord with his straying thoughts, his spark twanged painfully in his chamber. He tried to hide it but Skywarp was having none of it; the Seeker knew that his bondmates felt what he felt but he still wanted to spare them the whole of it. Thus his hiding and avoiding the issue of a spark merge. He wanted it, craved it so much that it was painful in itself. He needed their soothing presence, their reassuring love that they could only tell him now, since he didn’t let them close. Because he couldn’t. Not yet. He hoped that it wasn’t not ever, but it was a question for the future. Starscream sighed, put down the spanner and unconsciously lifted a gnarled servo over his cockpit as the inevitable memories came.

Megatron had used his frame before, and wasn’t gentle with it either; half the time it was an outright punishment, the other half a sick sort of reward, reminiscing drunkenly the time when the Seeker looked up to him, the fool that he was back then. He grew out of it soon, disabused of his hero-worship by his unfairness, the injustice, the disdain and humiliation that Megatron gave to every mech, but especially to his second whether he deserved it or not. Starscream was then adrift for a while, alone with his growing discontent, with his sobering up of the grand ideas that they set out to attain. With the intelligence that he had he couldn’t help but see the ideas became empty balloons, lying speeches and a dark, stark and energon-soaked reality.  
He found his Trine again at the last klik, he mused, when he was ready to just give up everything and loose himself in the vastness of space and never look back. Skywarp and Thundercracker had been secretly bondmates for almost as long as they were Decepticons and were none the less warriors for that. He knew of course and even cut off from his Trine as he was, he never gave away their secret to anyone. But when he deactivated a mech, an officer at that for gaining that knowledge and took Megatron’s punishment for losing a soldier they realized his hidden commitment and protection.  
He was ready to open up finally and they were ready to accept it, accept him in the bond. As Trine they interfaced regularly at first, rarely later as they grew apart, but their reunion enflamed their love and lust towards each other. They had to hide it of course just as much as the two-way bond before and it had its special difficulties; namely Megatron who still expected his SIC to serve him in the berth too if he ordered him to. It was good that he wasn’t expected to enjoy it, the tyrant never cared about his fulfillment, only for his own, because since their bonding with TC and Warp, he could barely tolerate the forced interfaces that Megatron put him through. His mates could tolerate it even less, although they tried to hide that reaction as it could have betrayed their secret.  
But Megatron noticed it of course and he even considered it a favor and leniency to send his Trine-mates away on missions whenever he was going to order him to his quarters. Or maybe he instinctly felt that one such occasion would push them over the edge where their rage would overcome their loyalty and oath to him? Starscream never knew. But he knew that the last time when he was expected to serve him in the berth Megatron was rougher and even more cruel than ever before. Even with his capacity to withstand pain that would immediately offline other, lesser mechs, he was soon screaming and begging for mercy.  
Not that it ever worked, he scowled to himself, the fragger never even wanted to be merciful in his function. Where he got the idea of a spark-merge, Starscream would never know; it was one thing he fortunately never did before. The pain was incredible, so much white-hot agony in his spark that his scream rose in pitch until his vocals fritzed out in static – but he continued to scream inside, feeling the tyrant’s dark, foul presence engulfing his life-force. Echoing through their connection came his mates’ screams of pain; he couldn’t keep up with the block any more and they were fortunate not to crash from the sudden agony that came through to them.  
He didn’t remember a lot about the next few groons. Hook kept him sedated and separated from his Trine-mates and his memories of that time were hazy at best. He did remember one thing clearly though, an announcement that he was carrying. Ice gripped his spark even in that fuzzy state that he was in, because it could only be Megatron’s sparkling. He feared that that the sparkling bond would snap his bonds to TC and Warp – he didn’t want to lose them. But it didn’t end that way.  
One orn he was awakened by an irritated Megatron who threw away the sedatives that he was so far given and demanded him to be up and ready for his job in a breem. Starscream couldn’t even answer him, the emptiness was so painful in his spark. By that time no Constructicons were around, the med-bay was empty and bared of its equipments. He thought the bond was broken, but when his mates sensed him awake, it erupted with their joy. Then he froze as the tyrant ranted on, totally oblivious of the effect of his words. Starscream was ‘rid of’ that ‘parasite’, he said, and able to resume his duties uninterrupted. His words expressed clearly that he knew the sparkling’s origin – and didn’t care.  
He learned in a joor that while he was out of the loop, Megatron acquired the Prime and kept him in his quarters torturing and raping him – not for information, not for anything that would at least give it a reason, only because he wanted it so. But he wasn’t at the time that interested in any Autobots, be him the Prime or not. For the next joor he lay sobbing in the arms of his Trine-mates, weeping freely for the sparkling, for the stain that Megatron put on their bond and then he stood, wiping the tears and went to do his shift.  
After entering the Command Center, he felt a brush against his mind, Soundwave touching him mentally almost as gently as only his wingmates could. He threw a querying glance towards the telepath who answered with a mental sigh and some pictures. His cassettes, as he saw them; sparklings like the one he lost and a deep sadness, understanding and absolution. It was the last straw. Turning on one thruster-heel, he marched towards Megatron’s chambers where he was enjoying his chained ‘berthmate’s pain and demanded entrance. When the enraged warlord opened the door, he didn’t wait for the inevitable disciplining but attacked, shrieking all the time, letting his pain-fuelled madness overpower the larger and stronger former gladiator.  
He still would have lost if not for his mates. Thundercracker and Skywarp arrived only kliks after he did, alerted by the free-flowing rage that came through to them and wasted no time to get into the fray. It was long and messy but at the end not much remained from Megatron that wasn’t torn, mangled or shot. They melted down even those scraps afterwards when they were done sobbing and laughing alternately in relief and pain. Soundwave came over too and his silent nod approved of the result if not the act itself.  
They still had to fight with those who aspired to power, but Soundwave’s help was invaluable and they had mechs on their side as well. When the worst of the dissenters were deactivated they could discuss what they were planning in the long term and agreed that the continuation of the war was not their best interest. Even if the Autobots were unaware of their weakening, they could gain nothing here on Earth that was worth fighting for. Energon they could make enough for themselves since Starscream designed the converter; it would sustain them even if they returned to Cybertron.  
But there was the Prime, that bleeding, tortured mass back in Megatron’s berthroom who doggedly held on to life even though he was in a worse condition that Starscream could ever remember himself to be. It was out of question to deliberately deactivate him, no matter how atheists they professed themselves, but he was still the bearer of the Matrix, the artifact that was Primus. Left as he was he would probably slowly deactivate from his injuries – Starscream couldn’t even find a way to put some energon in him when he performed whatever first aid he could to the mech – but none of them wished that agony on even an Autobot, not when they were considering a peace with them anyway.  
And so it was up to Starscream as the leader of the Decepticons, to call the Ark and bargain a medic’s services first and a ceasefire next with the hope of the Prime be able to negotiate soon for a lasting peace. It didn’t happen quite that way, but he was satisfied anyway; Prowl agreed pretty quickly once he promised them that Optimus would be returned to them. Maybe they could in time trust each other without hostages ensuring their honesty, he mused, missing Soundwave’s help in the running of the army. 

He sensed Skywarp behind him again but before he could tell him to back off, because he wasn’t that delicate and needed no such protection, he felt the nauseating pull of the teleport. Skywarp deposited him in their quarters, the one where he too moved back after they bonded, relinquishing his prestigious SIC’s rooms. It was better to be with them among Skywarp’s clutter and TC’s collections than alone in those decorated chambers. Thundercracker was there too and his serious face made him pause before he could scold Skywarp for the sudden relocation.

“Star, we must talk.” – he said and Starscream sat down heavily on a berth. He knew it was going to come around sooner or later; that was why he hid and buried himself into the necessary work. – “You will destroy yourself if you lock us out still.”  
“Star, we know how you feel. We understand that the last thing you want now is a spark merge. But even Ratchet said that it is the thing that can heal your spark.” – Skywarp was so upset that he was totally serious.  
“I do want to merge with you, feel you and love you…” – Starscream whispered and continued with even quieter – “I’m just… “  
“…afraid?” – Thundercracker was gentle as he wrapped his arms around his frame, while Skywarp was stroking his wings in soothing, slow circles. He more or less melted into their embrace, it felt so good, so accepted and welcomed.  
“ashamed…”  
“There is nothing to be ashamed, Star.” – TC was stern even as he continued to hug him reassuringly – “you did nothing wrong and what happened, couldn’t be helped.”  
“I put a stain on the bond. I wronged you…”  
“NO. It wasn’t you. It was Megatron. And if we renew the bond, when you heal, we can forget him forever.”  
“I want that… but not yet… I can’t… too soon…” – but even as he was denying it with his words Starscream burrowed into their embrace and sobbed again, not bothering to wipe the tears as he too hugged them back. Their sparks flared at the closeness, not quite a merge, not possible with all that armor in the way, but still a soothing throb that reverberated through their frames. They slowly sank down to the ground, still holding each other tightly, servos stroking the shushing wings, mumbling sweet nonsense. They fell into light recharge in a warm, snuggling heap, finally shedding all worry about the still tense situation on the Nemesis and the memories tormenting all three of them.

 

Ark

Ratchet nodded to Starscream, standing in the doorway, flanked by his two trine-mates. He was as ready as he could be without a full med-bay and necessary tools and part. Optimus was stable and albeit still barely more than his protoform, covered only a minimal amount of armour, but at least his struts and vital internals were now repaired, after three straight orns’ worth of non-stop work. At least he looked like a mech now, albeit still a heavily damaged one, he thought surly and he was finally able to put him into stasis without fearing that it would endanger his systems.  
Starscream seemed resigned now that Skywarp and Thundercracker put an ultimatum at him and he agreed that Ratchet should have a look at his spark. He still looked uncomfortable, almost fearful as his cockpit moved to the side and he parted his chestplates and Ratchet wasn’t surprised. He made no move to get closer, until he was ready and waved him over himself. His other servo was holding onto Skywarp’s the medic noticed so tightly that it must have put a dent on the purple metal.  
Ratchet checked the spark chamber first for signs of flares and was immensely relieved that he found none; it meant that no permanent damage was done yet and with his bondmates close it was unlikely to have a relapse of that magnitude. But the scars on the spark were there, marring the perfection of the ruby red orb of energy. A dark, ominous blotch that looked like a malevolent rust-stain and a small, almost invisible line where the sparkling bond was cut. Ratchet lifted a specialist tool, one that he added to his equipment almost as an afterthought hoping that it wouldn’t be needed, but afraid that it might; and warned Starscream.  
“It will feel like an electric shock at first. A small one. But it should smooth over both scars somewhat.”  
Starscream nodded tersely, gripping his mates’ servos with both his own now. He jerked as Ratchet activated the tool and ever so cautiously touched it to the spark’s surface, but held still afterwards. He didn’t see what the others have, that the dark spot on the spark started to loose its colour, its substance and became almost invisible. The other one seemed to change little, but that too was barely visible when the medic finished. He lifted away the tool immediately, knowing that it could cause more harm if applied for too long than the good it worked at first.  
The relief on all three of their faceplates was immediate and clearly noticeable, just as the perking wings and the ghosts of the smiles. Ratchet wished he could smile as well – he was happy for them, glad that he could relieve at least a bit of their pain, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until Optimus could stand up and speak… Pit damn it, he would already be mighty glad if he was just sitting up and hearing him. But even that could take orns still, he knew, not to mention a full recovery that might be groons or even vorns away, depending on his mental state.  
Together they moved Optimus onto a floating platform, covered him with a clean thermal sheet and the procession started to go through the still quiet Nemesis’s corridors. It still felt like a haunted place, but by this time Ratchet heard a mech or two moving around somewhere not very far from them. But no mech came across them as they progressed through the ship and into the tower lift. On the landing platform a nervous Skyfire, an impassive Soundwave and an impatient Prowl awaited them. Both Autobots’ optics were focused on the covered and still form of Optimus Prime, but after a hard shudder they forced themselves to look at the Decepticons. 

“I must thank you, Starscream for being considerate and helpful and returning our leader to us.” – Prowl was more or less convinced by this point that the Seeker was, for once totally honest and meant well. He also looked better than the last time they saw him on the screen and he couldn’t wait the medic to tell that story. It was sure better than the one he could glean of Optimus’s. – “I can assure you that we can sit down to discuss the peace treaty as soon as we can form an outline of it.”  
“I didn’t do it for you.” – Starscream stated with a slight grimace. – “But I’m looking forward to parley. This war has gone on long enough and we lost too much already.”  
“I can agree with that wholesparkedly.”

They didn’t waste any more time on useless pleasantries, instead filed into the shuttle and went home. There were still things to do, a mech and his mind to heal, policies to change and mechs to re-learn living in peace – but most of the hard road they’ve already taken and passed the biggest hurdles. With Megatron out of the picture and Starscream miraculously inclined towards peace they actually had a chance to achieve it.


	2. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "normal speech", ::comm line::, _::bond talk::_

**Ark**

Every mech on the Ark knew where they’ve been gone and why. No officer told about it to anyone but they still knew. It was just simply too big to just remain a secret. The end of the war, the deactivation of Megatron and most importantly the miraculous return of Optimus, when no mech believed any more that he was alive – all thanks to the Seeker who was usually sneered at by most Bots? Right now, Starscream was fast approaching the level of a positive hero in the wild rumours that ran across the Ark like wildfire and occasionally even contained a grain of truth in them. Accidentally of course. No officer has said anything after all. 

About the only hard fact that was known was that a strict cease-fire was in effect and Prowl promised a long-long stay in the brig for anyone who broke it, even accidentally. But it wasn’t needed. They all knew that Ratchet was over on the Nemesis and Optimus’s fate was more or less depending on observing said truce. Both facts alone would have been enough even the biggest hotheads on the ship to hold back and make nice had they met a Decepticon alone, outside the Ark. Even the Human authorities were strongly asked not to react if they saw colourful jets flying overhead – and they promised it too, as far as those fliers didn’t attack anything.

But no fliers were even seen over the mainland and no Decepticon activity was observed either, after a wild chase that involved a lone black truck and two dark-coloured shuttles who ignored any humans or human structures around and fought a vicious mini-battle that left the scant observers who hasn’t run immediately, with jaws hanging. Humans never before saw these biggest Decepticons fight among each other, much less do it till death. Because at the end the two shuttles flew away, albeit with their bright pink energon dripping from numerous wounds, but with the black truck clearly unmoving and dark between them, probably deactivated. It was just before the ceasefire, and since it involved only the Cons, nobody cared overasmuch.

Since that, noone saw the Cons and nobody missed them either. The Autobots continued with the patrols and their regular duties in and around the Ark, mainly because they couldn’t trust fully in them and besides it was necessary to take their minds off of other things and keep the more active younger bots occupied. They still had enough time to spread and discuss rumours anyway…

The three orns have gone slower than many vorns before. By the end of it the Ark closely resembled to a madhouse with sparks flying as arguments of every denomination broke out among the apprehensive mechs; so much so that even their human allies chose to leave the Bots alone before they calmed down again. They understood them, and Optimus Prime’s fate was no small matter to them either, much less the possible peace which would have meant the end of the constant raids and skirmishes, all taking heavy human casualties and damage. 

 

Nobody said when Skyfire was expected to arrive back, but still, all Autobots were at the entrance when he did. Prowl simply didn’t have the spark to order them away. Optimus Prime was more than just a leader for them, more than just a religious icon and Primus’s Chosen. They all cared about him on several personal levels from hero-worship and being a creator-figure till a friend, confidante and even in some cases as a hidden, unrequited love. When he was ambushed and disappeared, presumed deactivated after several unsuccessful rescue missions, there were some bots on the Ark who had wished that they’d professed their affection before. 

But then, he was a Prime, their leader and the bearer of the Matrix. How could a bot approach him that way and say that he loved him? How could a bot take the answer to such an admission if it was a negative one? And finally… how could a bot ever say it to him now, after what he went through? The thoughts and emotions were chaotic in him. He wasn’t used to having such strong emotions and certainly not expressing them. But he wanted to make it right for him, make him forget and replace the horroristic memories with love and caring – in whatever way he could.

He stood among the others, queasy with worry and anger at the sight of him. Murderously angry but also impotently so as the one who did this to him was already deactivated, Optimus avenged and he couldn’t even help in this either. There was no reason for him to be even close to Optimus. No special qualities, no ties to the bot, not being an officer either to follow him to the med-bay and stay there as he would dearly love to. His only relief was that Ratchet kicked out every mech else too after kliks of arriving to his med-bay. Some relief. He fretted on, awaiting news.

 

The mood in the rec room was, if possible worse than even the previous three orns. They all knew more or less what to expect but seeing him in this condition, even with Ratchet not saying a word about him was awful. They drank high grade to forget this time, not to celebrate. They stayed together, because it was a tiny bit easier to have friends around and know that they weren’t alone in their worries, pain and chaotic emotions.  
Smokescreen was, as their resident psychologist popular as target for their questions.  
“Think he can recover from this?” – Mirage wasn’t usually open about his feelings, but this time he looked… disgusted and strangely looked almost violated, like he took it upon himself what was done to the Prime. Sideswipe, on the other side of the table wondered quietly why could it be so.

“Can’t say anything before I had a chance to talk to him.” – Smokescreen privately wasn’t optimistic. Two months was a damned long time in the situation Optimus was trapped in. If he escaped more or less sane it would be a miracle – maybe even a Matrix-helped one. Yes, he thought, if anything, the Matrix could have saved him, helped him… he hoped.  
“Is he going to be able to be… to be the Prime after this?” – Mirage was determined and insistent. Cold even, not unusual for him, but still strange with his insistence in the matter.  
“What do you mean?” – Sideswipe couldn’t help but interrupt the spy. – “He IS the Prime still.”  
“Are you sure? What if the Matrix only chose to stay with him because Megatron was the only other option for it?”

“Shut yer mouth Raj. That’s not for you to say.” Jazz looked strangely at his subordinate. Mirage has never been the most empathic of bots, as his noble upbringing made him cold and distant to most mechs, but it was a particularly insensitive thing for him to say. And Jazz wasn’t the only one glowering suddenly at the noblemech with varying degrees of distaste. He was fast destroying the respect that he managed to build with them slowly and they didn’t need this crap right now.  
“Maybe so.” – he said, pertinacious till the end – “But I had been a priest of Primus and I tell you that after being defiled so…”  
“That was enough.” – Jazz almost never pulled his officer’s tone in the rec room, while in a friendly discussion but he had to do it now or Mirage was going to be lynched at this rate, if he kept continuing that train of thought. Sideswipe in particular looked murderous almost and Jazz for a nanoklik wondered why. As far as he knew there wasn’t any particular bad energon between the two.

Mirage stood up abruptly, an ugly scowl marring his chiseled faceplates for a klik before a cold, haughty demeanor took its usual place. He cast a disdaining look at the red warrior, one that had Sunstreaker hold his suddenly snarling twin back from attacking the spy right there and abruptly left the rec room.

 _::Sides, can it. He is a jerk and has always been one. What’s wrong with you?::_  
 _::I’ll kill him Sunny…::_  
Sunstreaker cast an uncertain look at his brother. Usually he was the one who had to be held back from attacking a bot who angered them, not the easygoing Sideswipe. He wasn’t used to having to calm his twin down.  
 _::Why? I mean, yeah he was pretty callous there, but what is that to you?::_  
 _::Nothing. I just… nothing.::_ \- Sideswipe sat back and was visibly trying to contain his fury – but Sunstreaker felt it smoldering for the rest of the orn.

Most mechs who heard the exchange just stared after Mirage or the uncharacteristically angry Sideswipe. It wasn’t like the calm, aloof Mirage to speak so rashly, not to mention so insensitive. It wasn’t like the easygoing Sideswipe to explode like that and the antisocial, hair-trigger tempered Sunstreaker to be the one holding him back. They were all worrying about the Prime, but… well, maybe it was the way they reacted to that pressure, Jazz supposed it was possible. 

-o-o-o-

It was both better and worse being back to his med-bay, Ratchet mused. Better, because he had access to monitors and tools that he couldn’t just take with him to the Nemesis and the atmosphere too was better by orders of magnitude than in that chamber of horrors. Worse, because the sharp lighting, the precise monitors and the frightful glances of First Aid told him just how damaged Optimus still was. They put him into one of the isolation rooms, locked hermetically from all Autobots, including the command element and basically started the job of fixing him all over again. Ratchet wasn’t even ashamed that his hasty, often jury-rigged fixes were pulled and replaced again – it was natural with the conditions he had to work in before.

He wasn’t surprised either when, after joors of extensive surgery First Aid simply took hold of him and forcibly pushed him onto the small berth that he kept in his office. The small Protectobot knew that he wouldn’t go farther, but saw as well that he was working on stimulants for orns by that time and nearing to complete exhaustion. Promising to wake him before doing anything major, he turned his back on Ratchet and went back to the meticulous and time-consuming, but necessary work of reconnecting the sensor-net and replace the nodes where they were damaged – basically everywhere, but the patient, little medic didn’t despair at the job before him.

He was at it four joors later still when Ratchet onlined refreshed and after refueling went back to help him. When it was finished they had the first big step that both of them were dreading; restore his senses, wake him up and see how his mind fared. They agreed and Smokescreen concurred that a hardline connection would be far too invasive and might just push him too far if misunderstood – so it had to be the outside sensors their first contact with him. Sound and vision first, his sensor-net if he could take it and try to coax a reaction out of him whether he was awake, aware and able to answer. 

A tall order still. The replacement helm, like most of his outer armour, was still only on the design-pads and the table of Wheeljack and Perceptor, so Ratchet connected the new audial units by attaching them to his protoform temporarily. The optic sensors were easier, once they rebuilt the whole optic network, leading to the outer lenses. The skull-like, naked, bare appearance had both of them shudder a few times. It was hard to keep up professionalism in the light of such injuries.

“Dial the sensitivity back to 10 % at first. We will raise it slowly, seeing how he reacts.”  
“Smokescreen said it should be only one bot around when he wakes. I will stay in that corner until you need me.” – First Aid knew that Ratchet’s distinctive shape and colours were better than his presence and agreed completely with the psychologist in this matter.

Turning off the stasis unit, Ratchet waited until the monitor showed more or less healthy spark-rate and retreated a step from the berth, not wanting to crowd him and called out quietly.  
“Optimus? Can you hear me? I’m Ratchet. Please signal if you can hear me. Can you blink or move a servo?”

He repeated the calling patiently for a few times, raising the sensitivity levels slowly, before a tiny movement caught his attention. It was one single digit, twitching more than signalling, he’d’ve said in any other case… but this wasn’t any other case.  
“Is that you Optimus? I can see your digit move. Can you hear me? Can you online your optics?”

The optics didn’t light up with the blue shine that he was waiting for, but the same digit twitched again. He decided to take it as an answer and not as an involuntary movement, albeit he had hoped for a bit more. It wasn’t a good sign, even for the first time. But at least there was one. The digit moved again, this time definitely not twitching but tapping once on the berth. It was the best little sound Ratchet heard in a long time. 

-o-o-o-

In the command center the Autobot officers collected, ostensibly to discuss the outline for a peace treaty, and to take their minds off from the fate of their leader as well. Being officers, they couldn’t just join the crew to smother their processors in high grade, they had to keep up the semblance of normalcy, however hard it was. They all saw Optimus’s condition and had Ratchet’s hurried report that physically he could be fixed maybe in decaorn or so, and they’d see it mentally only later. 

“I want to contact Starscream again as soon as we can, so that we don’t miss this chance for a peace.” – Prowl decided that it was the best subject to take their minds off the matter of Optimus – “But I want to leave the actual peace-treaty negotiations to Optimus whenever he is able to.”  
“Right, he IS the Prime and we shouldn’t parley without him. Especially not with Starscream.” – Ironhide wasn’t ready to give up his prejudices and trust the Seeker.  
“Ironhide, I believe that Starscream proved himself to be on the level, benevolent even. He could have just let Optimus deactivate, pack up his army and conquer Cybertron – and we couldn’t have stopped him.”  
“He has an ulterior motive with this too, I’m sure.” – the weapons officer mumbled, earning a frustrated look from Prowl and a hesitant nod from Red Alert.  
“He seems to be committed to make peace.” – Jazz mused aloud. – “I must admit that I can’t wait before Ratchet tells us the whole story of what happened over there.”  
“I concur. We need all the facts before we can decide how to proceed. But I ask you all to consider the possibility of Starscream being trusted and craft your recommendations taking that too into account. Optimus would want us to do our best if peace is a real possibility.” – Prowl hoped that invoking the Prime’s often stated wish, he could defuse the more stubborn of the staff, like Ironhide.  
“Right…” – Ironhide slumped into his chair.

He wasn’t against peace, far be it; he just saw too many betrayals and deceptions from Megatron that cost the Autobots many mechs over the vorns. Could he trust Starscream now? Prowl seemed to be convinced that the Seeker has changed and it wasn’t easy to achieve that with the logical and unemotional tactician. Pit, Ratchet was convinced too and that was damn near impossible with the crafty, old medic who’s seen nearly everything Decepticons could do.

The Seeker had let Ratchet onto his ship, protected him from his own army and sent Optimus back alive – and as far as they knew he had nothing to do with his condition. He also showed willingness to parley, when, as Prowl said, he could have just left and conquered Cybertron completely before they even noticed it. They were very strong arguments to his favour, Ironhide admitted to himself. Taken all into account he might have to give up the well-tried approach and find a new one. Not easy at this point of the war. Not easy for an old bot, set in his ways.

 

**Nemesis**

He had to admit, that wand that Ratchet waved at his spark truly did it some good. It twanged and throbbed far less than before, although it still felt like sometimes that it wanted to spin out of its chamber. He still didn’t know what outside stimulus caused that. The physical part of him started to get better, which was fine if he could just stop the memories coming forward and causing you to cry at odd moments. He already deactivated a mech who saw his tears before he could hide or find his Trine mates. That was when Skywarp started to play a shadow at his back. In a way it was good because it made him less likely to have a complete mood-swing and turn from bad to insufferable. 

Starscream knew that he was behaving far more erratically than he should have and almost as bad as Megatron at his worst. He knew that he was harming his own chances of being a good leader that he knew he could be - he just couldn’t help it. His emotional state was precarious and any little thing could tip it to the other way. And he certainly had a lot on his lap with running the demoralized, rebellious and controversially dangerously bored Decepticon army. Even with Soundwave back it wasn’t easy to keep them in check. 

They should rework the whole command structure, he knew, but he didn’t want to start it before he got an answer from Shockwave and any reaction from Hook and the broken Constructicon gestalt. Even with the war hopefully ending they needed a medic as well as the gestalt’s building and designing skills. They only left because of Megatron, so Starscream hoped that with a little persuasion and cajoling they could be convinced to rejoin. If only they could find them after disappearing into space.

Shockwave… well, he never had command ambitions and Soundwave could easily keep the one-opticked scientist, who had an appearance far worse than he really was, satisfied and loyal to the cause, whoever led it. Especially as the largest part of his contingent on Cybertron was made up from Seekers, who ultimately, if a choice had to be made would have chosen Starscream, their former Winglord and Air Commander. Shockwave’s drone army could never be a threat to the jets and he knew it. 

“Suggestion: Hook or Onslaught.” – Soundwave almost smirked at him, answering to his thoughts of choosing a new TIC who could, in time and with peace become a member of the government even. Their relationship evolved in great leaps since that shared moment of grief over the sparkling’s fate and Starscream was immensely glad that the telepath chose to be on his side, despite of his complete loyalty to Megatron. 

“Why not Shockwave?”  
“Shockwave: scientist first. Political ambition: nonexistent.”  
“You know him better than me… but then why did he accept the post of Governor of Cybertron?”  
“Lord Megatron: opinion not asked. Shockwave: adequate for post.”  
“Yeah, Megatron rarely asked if somemech wanted something or not…” – He could even sneer at that, not showing outwardly how that sentiment cut into his spark. But of course Soundwave knew. He felt that small, gentle touch in his mind again that was almost as soothing as his Trine-mates’ nearness. Skywarp growled faintly behind him, feeling it as an intrusion on their bond, wings spread in a display of threat.

“Soundwave: no harm meant.” – the telepath withdrew from his mind and made sure that the irate, black Seeker sensed it too. “Attention intended: friendly in nature.”  
“It’s okay, Warp.” – Starscream knew why it irked his mate but it was ridiculous really; being in the Decepticon army and fighting an eons long war apparently made them forget that mechs used to have various relationships, including friendships and that not every mech was either one’s lover or an enemy. – “He is not intruding, only…only trying to help.”

Skywarp backed off a bit, but it was obvious that he hasn’t given up his protectiveness, only accepted their assurances on the superficial level. He’d have to have a talk with the younger Seeker, and he should include Thundercracker in it too. Maybe he believed more if the two of them told him the same. Soundwave was a useful ally, a loyal second, a hardworking subordinate, and… and apparently a friend too. It wouldn’t be beneficial to have him alienated just because Skywarp was jealous, especially when it was a mistake. 

 

He left the con to the telepath and went in search of some energon. The common room was another surprise; since Megatron’s deactivation it was the first time he saw anymech sitting there. Maybe normalcy would be returning to the ship now? The Coneheads were nervous and keeping close to each other, just like the other group, but nevertheless, it was a good sign. No mech has openly challenged him for orns or tried to take advantage of his state of mind either – and now they were starting to come out of their quarters. Next step would be assigning regular shifts again, because too much free time has never meant much good in the volatile Decepticon army. 

Taking his cubes from the dispenser, he made a point in sitting down with Skywarp and drank them in a companionable silence, only broken by some irrelevant, but suprirsingly natural small talk. Even with the purple and black Seeker’s overprotective worry shadowing the edge of the bond and the apprehension of some still possible rebellion, Starscream realized that he was calmer than he felt in a great many vorns.

There was noone to call him an imbecile, a failure or a coward, no mech to blame him for losses not his fault, no beatings to inevitably look forward to before the orn ended… he just realized how much Megatron came down on him at every klik of the orns lately, how tense he was all the time, afraid of a blow, an insult, a humiliation and covering it up with insolence, belligerence and lashing out at everymech else.

He shuddered and arched his wing into the soothing servos of Skywarp, smiling at him, dispelling the gathering clouds of his dark memories just by being there and making him feel loved, accepted and cherished. He might’ve grumbled about the younger flier’s insistent following and worry but it was something wonderful to bathe in his love – and not be afraid that those who saw it would use their relationship against them.

Even the Decepticons must change, he thought, the examples were there for them all to see, and not only from the Autobots. The Constructions’ cohesion even in the face of Megatron’s wrath, his own Trine’s strength that they found together instead of being weakened by the bond. Blitzwing and Astrotrain beating Motormaster to deactivation when he attacked Octane, the triple-changers being just as close as his trine, hiding it the same way. And Starscream intended to encourage them all to show their affection for each other, because no matter if peace or war was to come it worked better that terrorizing one’s subordinates and fear the superiors. 

Even the Stunticons, poor little, mad things that they were would be better in a broken gestalt than under Motormaster’s constant torture. At least when they got over the act itself. So far he sent as much high-grade to their quarters as he dared and locked them in; the drunken stupor being the next best thing to sedation that he, lacking a medic couldn’t supply to them. In time they too would have to be handled somehow, but so far he was content to letting them to get over the shock of losing their abusive leader.

“Let’s get back to TC.” – he stood up abruptly, tired of making decisions any more.  
“Finally. He is missing you just as you miss him.” – Skywarp was more patient with him lately than Starscream would ever thought he could, but he was not above to showing it now, that they were just sitting around drinking energon. He was no leader, no sense of how a commander had to show more to his troops than just give orders and expect them to be obeyed. After all that was the example that he saw from Megatron and didn’t know any better. But Starscream knew what the Autobots had that made them superior troops – caring for each other was not overrated and Skywarp too would see it soon. A few seconds in the common room and acting as they were would make rounds in the rumour mill and make many of the soldiers wonder. 

But it didn’t mean that he was above some cuddling in their quarters once it was done. He still felt damaged and soiled, albeit less so as time continued to overwrite his memories, but he knew that TC and Warp hurt almost as much and needed the closeness as well. It was all he could give so far - although he did try to make himself think of interfacing or merging with them… eventually. It wasn’t going to be like the last time, he tried to convince himself slowly sinking into recharge, it would be good, it would be beneficial, it would be about love and not abuse…

If only he could get over the huge shadow that always stood on the periphery of his thoughts, a huge, silvery grey shape that laughed mockingly at him and held him down, thrust into him, tore into his plating, smashed his cockpit and forced his foul presence onto him… Starscream screamed and tried to free himself from the arms that held him down, clawing and whimpering and miraculously it worked this time. How…?

“Star… STAR! It is us, TC and Warp!” – the shouts penetrated the haze of fear that enveloped him and suddenly there wasn’t a grey hulk pressing him down but two warm frames around him and gentle servos trying to soothe his terror and he slowly calmed down, still trembling but not fighting any more to get out of their arms. 

“I’m so sorry, sorry, sorry…” – Pit damn it, he was hurting them now, he saw the energon dripping down from a blue arm, from a deep gouge that he put there.  
“It’s okay Star, I know it wasn’t intentional…” – Thundercracker couldn’t care less about the scratch, but it made Star feel even more wretched and himself helpless to dispel the fear and terror that gripped their lover. – “Shush… I know why you did it. Memories, right?”  
“Y-yes…” he stuttered as he petted Thundercracker’s arm, silently apologizing for the harm.

Starscream hated being weak, feared it controversially, as it was the most often heard insult thrown at him. Megatron conditioned him to never show weakness – but continuously mocked him for it anyway. Intellectually, he knew that he wasn’t weak, at least no more than any Seeker on the ground; in fact he learned more ground-fighting techniques than most of his frame-kin out of necessity. But intellectual knowledge wasn’t quite enough to overcome millenias of degradation as he tried to hide it and reciprocate his mates’ caresses.

“No, Stars, don’t hide from us… you don’t have to.” – Skywarp exclaimed, dismayed by Starscream pulling up the block on the bond. They hardly got him to relax it… the black Seeker seriously wished he could bring back Megatron to kill him again. Slower this time. He felt totally useless. Hovering over Starscream and growling at mechs was all he could do but he has never been good with the emotional stuff. Helplessly petting the still trembling white wings, he tried to get through the block to show him how much they loved him and it didn’t matter what that slagger said, didn’t matter what he did, because they’d always love him.

The problem was, they couldn’t be too forceful because that would also remind him of Megatron… he understood this much, they talked it over with TC while Star was in stasis and later when the blue Seeker managed to discuss it with Ratchet. It wasn’t an easy situation and he was well out of his depth. He hardly remembered the last time he played a prank… well, that might actually be a way to snap Star out of his depression, Skywarp thought, a simple, funny prank to bring back normalcy. 

Their kind of normalcy, anyway. With him pranking Star and pulling the unwilling TC into it. With TC frowning at him disapprovingly and lecture him sternly on decorum. With their irate trine-leader pursuing him through the corridors for being bright, dripping pink or having squeaky toys in his joints. With all of them laughing at it in the end. Yes, that would definitely be good now. 

 

**Ark**

The single twitch of a digit was followed by others and Ratchet managed to tell Optimus most of what transpired – in broad strokes obviously and still not sure how much he understood from it. He kept reassuring their leader that he was safe and it was all real and not his imagination, until he could convince him to online his new optics. That dim blue light which appeared in the lenses almost sent the old medic crying though. Five orns ago he was fairly sure that he’d never see this sight again, Optimus responding to their assurances, moving, even though it was just a few digits so far… they established a signal system of blinks and after a while it seemed that he was using it to answer, more or less consistently. 

Ratchet was so satisfied with the result that he decided to go on to step two, to establish hardline connection with him, to better see how corrupted his programming was. First Aid cautioned him not to hurry the process but the older medic waved away his concerns for once. Optimus seemed to be in a condition better than he’d expected and it was a logical step. Only, it came out very-very wrong… He told Optimus at first of course, what he was going to do. He seemed not to object, albeit his signal wasn’t exactly clear. But the nanoklik Ratchet connected to his reconstructed medical interface port he reacted. Strongly.

Ratchet didn’t think that the barely repaired protoform could be so forceful, so desperate. But of course he was the Prime… bigger, heavier and apparently still stronger than him, even without most of his armor, fuelled by a desperate need to escape, to fight with what he thought to be Megatron. Surprised him as well, tearing out the interface cable and sweeping them both off the berth, onto the floor, with the medic trapped under his greater bulk. First Aid froze for a precious few kliks and Optimus didn’t waste any time, fighting for his life as his mind portrayed it to him and started to strangle Ratchet. His optics flickered, trying to focus, but whatever he saw was obviously not in the medbay.

If not for Sideswipe, who was outside, in the med-bay proper for reasons only known to him and shooting the door from its moorings when he heard the sounds of the struggle, Optimus might have done something irreversible. But while he could momentarily overpower the surprised medic, in his weakened state he was no match for the frontliner, who saved Ratchet’s life at the last klik, separating them and half carrying, half dragging the Prime back to the berth, pinning him there. By this time First Aid too shook off the shock and jumped to clamp off the main energon line spurting its bright liquid from Ratchet’s neck before giving a sedative to the Prime and hurried back to fixing the small but dangerous injury up for good. 

“Thank you Sideswipe, it was a timely interruption.”  
“What was?” – Prowl arrived to the news of shooting in the medbay and found the red twin holding down Optimus’s bare, struggling protoform and his blaster still smoking on the floor. He was not one to jump into premature conclusions but it did look suspicious. Only First Aid’s grateful tone to the warrior stopped him to tear him off the Prime’s inert and still somewhat damaged frame. 

“Uhh… I just… I heard some struggling in here and Optimus was trying to strangle Ratchet, so I just had to do something…” – Sideswipe knew how it must have looked to the SIC and he was in a hurry to explain it all before he lost his composure. He was in no hurry to move away from the Prime though.  
“Ratchet attempted a hardline connection to Optimus Prime and…” – the small Protectobot paused, sighing – “… he didn’t react well. It happened very quickly.”  
“I see. In that case, thank you Sideswipe for the interference.”  
“I’m mightily glad that you were around.” – Ratchet interjected weakly from the floor, not particularly wanting to get up just yet. “I didn’t expect the Prime react so strongly. It was my mistake.”  
“How is he?” – surprisingly it was Sideswipe who asked, still standing by the berth, one servo still lightly on Prime’s bare shoulder. Optimus gave a shudder and his servo moved again, like he was fighting off the effects of the sedative already - but interestingly, he didn’t try to move away from the red frontliner’s touch.  
“Umm, it was just a small dose that I had on me.” – First Aid mumbled, stepping over the medical cabinet for another sedative. – “He is getting better otherwise. Physically I mean.”

“Optimus? Can you see me? You are among friends. You are safe. No need to fight.” – Sideswipe’s voice was a complete surprise to all present, who looked at him suddenly with surprised optics. The normally cocky, brazen tone was much lower and smoother than usual, its velvet quality conveying safety and calm by itself. Prowl lifted an orbital ridge at the sound, as he never thought that Sideswipe was at all capable of speaking in such a manner. But it seemed to work as Optimus’s slight squirming ceased and he even turned his helmless head towards the soothing voice. 

::Keep it up!:: -Ratchet commed to Sideswipe urgently - ::Your voice has more effect on him than mine had::  
The red twin threw him an uncertain look but continued to speak to Optimus in the same velvety voice. - “You are on the Ark now, in the med-bay. You are safe. We have you back. You are being repaired.”

Optimus seemed to calm down completely and Ratchet quietly picked himself up from the floor, drawing the others too away from the berth. His small wound was already healed from First Aid’s quick repair and while originally it was life-threatening, once fixed, it caused him no problem whatsoever. He watched Sideswipe calming down Optimus with an interest – never knew he had it in him. After a few kliks he even onlined his optics again, the blue light still flickering, obviously trying to focus and recalibrate after so long in the darkness. 

His bare metal digits clamped onto the red twin’s black ones, like clutching to a lifeline. Sideswipe continued to tell him reassurances, keeping his mind with them, not letting it fall back to the nightmares. Ratchet noticed that his optics seemed to focus on him more than to any of them - it must have been that flamboyant shade of red, he guessed, certainly one that no Decepticon sported and was easy to detect even with his hardly working optics. He hardly cared about the reason at this point, he was only glad that one of them, anyone really, had this calming effect on him. They could hardly keep him sedated all the time, recovery had to start somewhere while conscious and awake.

“How did you learn to speak in such a tone? – Ratchet was taking a break with Sideswipe, while Fist Aid kept working on Optimus, now in stasis again. He made tremendous progress in the last joor and it was in no small part thanks to Sideswipe’s presence; a totally unexpected, but welcomed influence that Ratchet didn’t hesitate to use. He simply told Prowl that the red twin was needed in med bay, therefore pulled from any other duties. He didn’t object to it, in fact he looked glad to be able to remain near Optimus, something surprising in itself from the prankster.

“You know our past, right?” – the red warrior was tense, never liking to tell about themselves to anyone. But Ratchet was different…  
“The gladiator ring, yes.”  
“We started there while still younglings. And they’ve gone to extreme lengths to break Sunny, to make him be obedient. I had to comfort him often after sessions. I found that the tone was more important than what I said.”  
“I see…” – he knew the twins’ past but in general terms only – and details like this that sometimes came up made him sick. Mainly because they didn’t happen in a war, they’ve been done in peace, while other Autobots lived their mostly comfortable lives. It made him wonder how mechs could contemn them for being what they are, without getting to know them more. True, they didn’t make it easy to get to know; not with Sunstreaker’s aggression and Sideswipe’s pranks. His superficially easygoing, flippant nature, so opposite of his twin’s antisocial and violent one hid the same insecurities. 

“It was good that you remembered it when needed. That was a very precarious situation.”  
“I… I just saw him there and… it came automatically.”  
If Sideswipe was a human his face would be red, Ratchet mused… but why? Was he embarrassed by what he did?  
“I hope you don’t mind doing it still…? I mean we won’t tell it to anyone and Optimus probably won’t remember much of what transpired when he recovers.”  
“N-no, I don’t mind doing it… for Optimus, no matter if he remembers or not.” – but Sideswipe avoided Ratchet’s glance and stared at his servos instead, on his lap.  
“What is it then…? You don’t seem comfortable.”  
“N-nothing.” – he actually squirmed and Ratchet was sure that something was amiss. – “It is… nothing.”

Ratchet was sure he hid something, but the time wasn’t right to pry and he was too tired to do it anyway. There was still so much to do, before they could relax even a bit with Optimus stable. 

“Ratchet… go and have a recharge in your quarters. Or in ours. You haven’t been with Sunny for too long.” – The three of them have interfaced informally for long by this time, Ratchet loving them both equally, but slowly Sideswipe realized that although he loved Ratchet too, it was different for him than for Sunny. His twin showed no tender emotions outwardly but inside he loved Ratchet deeply and it was certainly reciprocated by the medic. He, on the other servo… he was with them physically and even cared for them, but in time he realized that it wasn’t a romantic affection on his part. 

In fact it was mainly because of his reluctance that they haven’t bonded yet; pleading insecurity, claiming that it wasn’t the right thing to do during the war, but he never told them how he really felt. How does one confesses something like this to one’s split-spark twin and one’s lover, that he didn’t love them quite that way? That he couldn’t imagine being mates with the two of them, even though being lovers was fine? That - and he hid this even from Sunstreaker – he had a secret that he never told to anyone because it was a dream only, unlikely, improper and flat out impossible?

-o-o-o-

It was a busy decaorn, Prowl thought since they got Optimus Prime back and started to cautiously get to know the Decepticons. They quickly agreed with Starscream that a peace treaty shouldn’t be hurried and that the cease-fire was perfectly fine with all of them – including the humans after some shouting and grumbling on their part and much diplomacy from the Autobots’ quarter. Prowl couldn’t blame them, as it has always been the humans and their cities and structures that suffered the most in the Decepticon raids and attacks. But after a while they came to realize that peace and some cooperation from the Decepticons worth far more than any retribution or trial for the individual Cons.

Starscream agreed that in reparation he would share some technical advances with the humans and he kept his word – much to the surprise of the still suspicious humans, who of course knew nothing about the real reasons for his ascension to power and the sudden turn in attitude. Not that Starscream intended to ever enlighten them; although the Seeker looked better in time, but Prowl could still pick up signs of deep distress from time to time. Considering what Ratchet told them about what’d transpired, he wasn’t surprised. Starscream was just extremely good at hiding his emotions from anyone and any mech. 

The acting commander knew that many Autobot who had some connections with humans, formal or informal, told them that the Seeker was to be trusted, and some of them even hinted to them the reason why it was so. It also went for his Trine but the rest of the Cons weren’t that easy matter. They never made any move towards the humans and very little towards the Autobots either and Prowl knew that Starscream and Soundwave had ever increasing problems with their mechs who were used to fighting all the time and not much else. 

The solution, or rather a beginning of a solution came from the recently arrived Blurr, who simply couldn’t abide to the human speed limits. Not that many of the Ark’s crew could, but at least they tried. Occasionally, Prowl scowled. But Blurr simply couldn’t. The elaborate and complex racetrack that they built in the desert - that by this time belonged to the Autobots legally, therefore it was exempt from the often bothersome human laws - quickly became an instant hit among the Autobots who were just as bored as their Decepticon counterparts and cut down on the speeding tickets. It also took their minds off from the still uncertain fate of Optimus Prime. 

The first Decepticons who turned up at the track and posturing mock-aggressively, but with a façade of forced politeness asked if they could enter were predictably the Stunticons, minus Motormaster. Jazz, in charge of the track was glad for that particular omission. He quickly got to know the reason for it too, while he briefed the impatient racecars on the track rules – he got the hint that Starscream had drilled them before coming on the rules of conduct towards the Autobots. The session went surprisingly smoothly, with only a minimal amount of the expected arguments and no shooting at all; the mechs present all had the common sense of avoiding the dangerous issues and stick to technology, technique and general racing issues.

After that the Cons became a usual sight at the track and though Jazz had always been careful to have extra muscle around when they came, there weren’t any big brawls developing. Smaller skirmishes, they had of course, but with strictly offline weapons they never grew to dangerous proportions. The track naturally had a medic-in-training or someone trained in first aid in attendance all the time and they pounded out the dents from collisions as well as some flying blows that by unspoken agreement were rarely ever reported to either command. It was, as one of the humans quipped the Cybertronian equivalent of barroom-brawls. Messy, but resolving some of the smaller issues they had with each other in a way that no fancy negotiations could.

-o-o-o-

After the disastrous result of the first time, Ratchet decided to avoid the hardline connection, even with Sideswipe having such a good effect on their leader. He admitted that the method’s invasive nature outweighed its effectiveness in communication as well as the instant evaluation of Optimus’s mental health. Unspoken was the sentiment that Megatron probably tortured him this way too for the reaction to be this strong. They had to do it in a harder way, by reconstructing his voice box and try to make him speak, talk to them. His armour was mostly reworked by this time and with it on including the brand new helm, he looked far better than for a long time. Almost normal, if they discounted the still hesitant, fearful movements and that he apparently failed to recognize any of them, except Sideswipe. 

None of them expected him to answer straight away when he was brought out of stasis. It would have been a miracle and Ratchet learned a long time ago that miracles were rare and never came when you prayed for one. They had an argument as to who should talk with him when he awakened; Smokescreen and Prowl insisted that Sideswipe wasn’t a trained psychologist and despite of his fortunate ability to calm the Prime down, he was not the one who should communicate with him now, that they hoped for him to be more responsive, sane and able to answer.

And so it was Smokescreen who told Optimus first that he could speak, answer if he wanted to. Only… he didn’t. Not for him anyway, only growing more and more agitated at the unfamiliar voice and shape who leaned over him. Ratchet started to fear another disaster, as Optimus with the armour on and more or less fixed completely was definitely stronger than any of them and certainly able to overpower Smokescreen should he choose to do so. To the psychologist’s credit he noticed it too and stopped, stepping back a bit to give him space.

“I still think it should be Sideswipe.” – Ratchet noted, despite of the disapproving looks from Prowl. The tactician, not even comfortable with the red warrior’s role even at the beginning, has grown even more reproving as matters progressed. He expressed his opinion that this way Optimus would just grow even more dependent on Sideswipe and remain mistrustful of anyone else. Which was kind of true, Ratchet admitted, but he also knew how precarious Optimus’s mental state must be and he didn’t really gave a damn to what worked and who managed to do it - only that it did. Prowl could worry about decorum all he wanted but Optimus needed emotional security and if it was Sideswipe able to give it to him for whatever reasons, then that was the way it was going to be.

“I concur.” – First Aid only ever disagreed with another officer in medical matters, but in the med-bay, he always acted with the patients’ well-being in mind and no tact or politeness. – “Later we can all try to speak with them but so far he seems to react best to Sideswipe.”  
“Very well.” – Smokescreen wasn’t happy either, but he couldn’t deny what they all saw. His demeanor, professional as he was had less effect on Optimus as the frontliner’s uneducated but natural charm.

“Optimus?” – Sideswipe was secretly glad for being back at Optimus’s side and to see him calming down. – “It is me, Sideswipe and you are safe in the Ark. Can you answer? Your vocalizer is fixed now, can you confirm it?”

Optimus was propped up onto a half-sitting position at that point, the berth’s upper half supporting his back. He turned his helm towards them, but the still unfocused optics with their flickering light, sometimes whitening-out, sometimes darkening to almost black were pretty disconcerting. Even after a few orns he couldn’t fully recalibrate them and it was anyone’s guess what he truly saw. Not that the optics had anything wrong with them; Ratchet checked and rechecked them a number of times, but they were physically perfect. The problem was likely with his visual processing units which, lacking a hardline medical connection they could only guess how were working. 

He didn’t answer at first, but he did turn to look at Sideswipe, apparently trying to focus even more at him. The red warrior kept talking to him, asking to react, pausing frequently to give him opportunity to interject anything he wanted to. He kept at it for breems and the others’ attention started to wonder, Smokescreen arguing with Ratchet through the comm about the whole idea, questioning again Sideswipe’s capability in the role of a counselor when finally a deep, whispering, staticky voice cut through the air like a rusted knife.

‘Ark…?” – Optimus looked at Sideswipe still, his rusted, creaking voice faint, hardly audible over the small sounds of machinery in the med-bay.  
“Yes, Optimus, you are in the Ark!” – Sideswipe’s voice remained in the same, soothing tone as before but acquired a distinctly victorious edge – “You are safe. Can you see… can you recognize us?”  
He understood the question and turned to look at them, the blue light stronger than before and more stable in the optic lenses.  
“See… yes… not well.”  
“No problem, Optimus. It will get better.”  
“S-sideswipe?” – he seemed surprised and Sideswipe could well understand it; in normal circumstances he’d have no place in the med-bay with a recovering patient or around the Prime for that matter.  
“Yes, it’s me. But Ratchet is here too, and First Aid, Prowl and Smokescreen too. You can speak with them if you wish.” – Sideswipe hid the disappointment from his tone.  
“Stay.” – the digits clamped onto the red twin’s black ones in a sudden, frightened motion. It was almost sparkbreaking to watch.  
“Okay. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry. You are safe now.”  
“Optimus?” – Ratchet thought it was time to cautiously approach him too – “How do you feel?”  
“R-ratchet… I… don’t know.” – he looked almost lost – “Is it… true…? I’m… on the Ark?”  
“Yes, Optimus, you are safe, on the Ark and whatever you remember is just a memory now.”  
“It is… over...”  
“Yes, Optimus it is over. Megatron is dead. You are safe now.”

Maybe it was too soon to mention Megatron’s designation, Smokescreen thought as he observed him to flinch strongly and hold onto Sideswipe’s servo with a strength that reminded them to his old self. He also saw the red twin hiss slightly as his digits were slightly crushed in his strong grasp, but to the frontliner’s credit he didn’t move them away, nor did he voice his discomfort aloud.

“Optimus… welcome back. We missed you.” – Prowl’s clear voice cut through the darkening mood. – “Everyone on the Ark.”  
“Good to… be back” – he still spoke hardly even whispering, haltingly, like he had to think of every glyph separately but the staticky quality of his voice has improved with every word. His vision too must have cleared up because Ratchet could observe him carrying his glance around, stopping with each mechs for a few kliks, obviously recognizing them at last. -“How… long…?”  
“Too long…” – none of them wanted to enumerate the exact length of time – “We thought you to be deactivated.”  
“prayed to be… many times...”  
“But it is over now. You are repaired fully and no sign remained of what was done to you.”  
“’xcept… the memories.”  
“They will pass too. In time.” – Ratchet hoped at least. What happened was not an easy thing to forget, even for such a strong individual as Optimus, aided by the Matrix. He had said a few times that the artifact had a stabilizing effect on him and he certainly needed it now.  
“How… who… found me?”  
“Starscream killed Megatron and called us for a medic. We have a truce now.”  
“Good…” – For a klik they saw a flash in the so far dim blue optics, a slight hitch in the voice… anger, fury or satisfaction, they couldn’t know. But it was good to see it. It meant life and will that could carry him through the despair and depression. – “’m I… imagining… is it… true?”  
“Yes, it is true. We are real. The med-bay is real. You are safe.” – Sideswipe easily understood the confusion. It must have been hard to separate his memories from what he could still hardly see and accept them as real and not his wishful thinking.  
“Good… is over then… tired… so tired…”  
“Yes, it was quite enough conversation for the first time. You still have to recharge and let your self-healing do some work.”  
“No… recharge is… no! dark… dreams hurt… No!” – he looked almost panicky before Ratchet assured him hurriedly.  
“I will put a dream suppressant into your energon.”  
“Dark… not the dark…” – he held onto Sideswipe’s servo still.

“I’ll stay here, Optimus. One of us will be here all the time and the lights will remain on.” – First Aid added in his calm voice. It worked, just as the complex cocktail that Ratchet poured into the IV line; dream suppressant, sedative and necessary trace-elements for his own healing nanites together made him sleepy and soon falling into a light recharge, uninterrupted by dreams. For the first time in months they felt relieved and hopeful. It was time to share some good news with the crew as well, Prowl thought, while First Aid held back Sideswipe for a bit.  
“Let me see to that servo.”


	3. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: _Italics_ \- dreams/rememering

**Ark**

“Why is Sideswipe in there with them?” – the question was almost innocent coming from Tracks, but Sunstreaker didn’t think so and he expressed it clearly with a scowl and a growled answer.

“None of your fragging business.”

“Hey, I don’t mind it. Just asking.” – the smile too was almost innocent, just like the lifted servos, but everyone present knew that Tracks loved to provoke Sunstreaker when his twin wasn’t around to be a calming influence. – “It’s not like we miss his pranks, right?”

“Frag off.” – in truth, Sunstreaker was disturbed by the feelings that came through the bond with his twin. He tried to hide them, but couldn’t, not fully anyway. And they were… strange. Worry about the Prime, he understood. Uncertainty about the situation he was dropped into he got as well. Some annoyance that he could imagine was probably at Smokescreen. But behind that there was a deep, hidden joy at something that he couldn’t imagine. Not that he’d disturb Sides after that first, hurried explanation at what he was doing – he’d need his attention to be on Optimus. 

“Good to know that at least one of you remained his old self.” – Tracks grimaced at Sunstreaker, hoping to glean some more information from the frontliner about his twin and consequently about Optimus Prime. The crew was so far kept totally in the dark and it was decacycles since he was brought back. Some of the more pessimistic mechs even started to whisper that he was deactivated or irreparable even. Not that they believed to those, but the suspicion was there and they all cared for Optimus. – “If your better half has started medical training then the rest of us should really start to worry.”

“Told you to frag off. Sides is helping them because he was there by accident when Optimus reacted badly to something.” – Sunstreaker scowled at the inquisitive mech. – “Now you know as much as me.”

“What about Ratchet? Has he left the med-bay at all?”

“Actually he has.” – Sunstreaker suddenly realized that besides Tracks there were at least a dozen mechs at nearby tables who started to listen to him. It made the golden twin self-conscious and frustrated. – “But he didn’t say anything. He came to recharge not to chat. Now, let me go.

He stood up abruptly, uncomfortable with the attention and started to leave the room in a manner that might even be called an escape. Not in his hearing of course. He didn’t lie, as Ratchet truly hasn’t said anything, but simply the fact that he left the med-bay was a positive sign. Sunstreaker was sure that the others took it the same way. Before he could leave the rec-room though, Prowl came in and an announcement called all off-shift mechs there too. After a few breems the acting commander started to speak.

“I am sure that all of you has been worried about Optimus Prime’s condition. I am glad to announce that Optimus Prime is out of danger to deactivate and our medics assured me that physically he will make a full recovery. As some of you already know he was tortured by Megatron and his mental, emotional recovery will take far longer than the physical part. I hope that all of you can be trusted to behave around him accordingly, should he be able to leave the med-bay.”

“Will he leave it soon?” – Track’s question wasn’t surprising in itself; the fact that he asked it a bit more so.

“Unlikely. Even if he does, it will only be to move him into his own quarters.” – they had already discussed this part; to be among his own things would probably help Optimus to regain the feeling of safety, which he still had plenty of problems with.

“Can we see him, or talk?” – It was Blaster, voicing what most of the crew didn’t dare to ask.  
“Unlikely for a while. Probably for decacycles more.”

“Why? Wouldn’t familiar faces and voices be helpful?”

“We don’t know yet. He hardly recognizes anyone still. This process can’t be hurried.”

“What about Sideswipe? How does he get to be there?”

“Yeah, why is it him who can see Optimus Prime?”

Prowl was annoyed by those questions. They had hoped that Sunstreaker spread enough tidbits to silence that line of questioning in the rumour-mill, but apparently it wasn’t so.

“Sideswipe presence was due to an accident, but since he turned out to be actually helpful, he got drafted in to help. There is nothing more to it really.”

“Well, we could all help. It’s not like he has any special qualities.” – That statement from Cliffjumper surprised the Pit out of everyone, not because of the envy and arrogance that he put into it – that was expected - but because he was the last mech they would imagine as helping a torture victim to recover. Not with his usual attitude anyway. Even Prowl looked faintly abhorred by the idea, but he collected himself well enough for an answer.

“If and when the medics say that he can accept visitors, I will of course notify the crew of that fact. Until then we don’t look for volunteers.”

-o-o-o-

“Well, he is as fine as we can make him.” – Ratchet called the command staff together to discuss how to proceed from then on. – “He needs a few orns rest to give a chance to his healing nanites to finish up everything, but otherwise physically he is fixed and healed.”

“What about his programming? I can’t believe that there are no glitches.”

“Probably he has a lot. In the visual processing center for sure because he still sees quite badly, but others are likely too. But without a hardline connection, I can’t confirm them. The nanites should fix some, but I will have to check sooner or later.”

“And he still reacts badly to any such attempt?”

“Even worse. Every time I wanted to try I explained what I was going to do, I made sure he knew who I was and he seemed to agree to it. But when I actually tried to plug in he reacted the same way invariably. I won’t force him to it.”

“Understandable. He still reacts to Sideswipe best?”

“I would say only…” – Smokescreen murmured almost too quiet to be heard.

“Yes. And if you are wondering whether we should do something about that, forget it.” – Ratchet looked somber, serious as he cast a disapproving glance to Smokescreen – “Prowl, I cannot care about who is supposed to help him mentally or what would be the so-called proper thing to do – as long as Optimus relies on Sideswipe to feel safe, it is going to be Sideswipe around him and that’s it. I’m serious. You don’t seem to grasp how fragile his seeming calm is, do you?” 

Ratchet looked at the two doorwinged mechs angrily. He had this argument separately with both of them, Smokescreen feeling envious and slighted by Sideswipe taking his place, while Prowl disapproved of the frontliner’s presence on more general principles, besides worrying that the eccentric red twin would do something inexcusable, like playing a prank that could have disastrous consequences. But he wouldn’t give in to them even if they acted together in this; as long as he was the CMO, he’d have the last word. 

Not that the situation wasn’t shady, Ratchet knew. Prowl was acting commander and as such had jurisdiction over Sideswipe at least. Smokescreen was the resident psychiatrist and as far as they were talking about Optimus’s mental health, he did have a say – Ratchet was a medic, but he had no qualification in psychology. Still, he was determined to give Optimus what the mech needed and not what any mech else thought to be the best for him. As long as it was Sideswipe, he would get the red warrior, no matter who it galled Smokescreen.

“We all know Ratchet, that he is far from healed. There is no need to aggrandize the situation.” – Prowl understood Ratchet’s concern, as it was expected from the medic, who always kept the interest of his patients above every other consideration. He was even willing to go with what he advocated, as the acting commander was no medic; had it not been their resident psychologist who was expressing doubts about it. It gave Prowl’s logical processor another angle and another variable, which in the particular situation almost equalized the medic’s recommendations.

“We can slowly try to wean him from being dependent on one mech only and accept others too for support. Surely you agree that Optimus should learn to trust us all again?”

Smokescreen nodded to show his agreement, but didn’t speak up. He knew that Ratchet didn’t like him much, holding his gambling and sometimes admittedly shady morals against him professionally too, and Prowl was representing his opinion better anyway. 

“It is not even a question and you know it Prowl.” – Ratchet tried to hold himself back and not react to Prowl’s accusatory remark. – “But I’m not exaggerating his condition and I refuse your alluding so. He was tortured within an inch of his life and still functions with a multitude of glitches and errors that make him unable to believe us fully. I do not believe it is the time yet to force him to accept others than what he considers safe – that is, Sideswipe.”

“Of course we accept your judgment in it. But please keep in mind that it is a valid concern.”

-o-o-o-

Sideswipe basically spent all his online joors and many of his offline ones near Optimus Prime. As the orns gone by he learned most of the moves and moods that he had, what they meant and how he could handle them. As he was physically fixed, the medics only came to check on him or try to talk with him, but most of the time they stayed together in the isolation ward of the medical bay. 

He was still recharging most of the joor, as his self-healing finished the job that the medics started, but he came online several times every orn and they soon learned that leaving him alone was so far simply not an option. The first time he came online alone, he panicked and broke many of the newest repairs – and the pain from those only added to his confusion. It took many joors of reassurances from Sideswipe to calm him down. Since that time there was always some mech in the ward all the time – mostly the red twin, who could be with the best effect to him and eager to volunteer to the surprise of almost everyone.

Sideswipe was reading a datapad that Sunstreaker brought in, a boring little story-collection, but better than nothing. He definitely missed physical exercise, especially since he heard of the new racetrack that he couldn’t yet try out, but of which Sunny sang satisfied praises, an act quite uncharacteristic from him. He really envied him for that opportunity; the human roads were just unsatisfying for their speeds, not to mention their laws that forbade it.

He sent Ratchet to spend a full cycle with Sunny and First Aid concurred with him, telling the CMO to either go on his own volition or be relieved from duty and go anyway. Ratchet grumbled as they expected, but he went. Sideswipe knew that he’d have to talk with them soon, but he was far too much busy with keeping Optimus company – and enjoying it immensely too. So far he was glad that at least Ratchet would get a full cycle of recharge…

-o-o-o-

_He stood in front of the door he’d never forget. Big, strong, stark metal doubly reinforced, decorated with a huge Decepticon logo that looked like being painted there by spilt, dried and flaking energon. He stepped inside, into the sick darkness where only a single, broken, flickering light was fighting ineffectually with the glum fog of black air. Everything stank of rotten energon and stale oil that was spilled and splashed over the entry room furniture and left there to rot. The walls around were discoloured and burnt with weapons discharge, adding the smell of melting metals to the mixture._

_Brighter slants of light striped garishly the scene, coming through by the warped, bent door to his right. In a dazed, shuddering silence, Ratchet took a step towards the door, then another, until he stood in front of it, one servo lightly touching the door-pane. The light rays seemed so very deceptively welcoming as they streamed out and spilled into the darkness and bad smells. They danced over his plating, lighting up his crosses, flashing on his chevron like a treacherous lover’s lying digits._

_He pushed the broken door out of the way and the light flooded out, almost like it too wanted to escape the chamber. He didn’t remember the steps that took him to the berth, by which he stood now. It was covered in a mess of fluids, broken parts and burnt, blackened wires snaking among them. No mech was there. He thought that he heard screaming, faintly, like coming from far away or just being a memory of pain that occurred here. Like the air itself, the very walls and the berth remembered to the torture that they had to witness._

_A servo touched lightly the sticky, fluid-covered surface. The metallomesh covering was cut and torn in many places, small parts and metallic shards pushed into the gaps and stuck there. The rusting remains of a chain lay across the disgusting mess. A skeletal, bared, ruined servo was still in the deadly hug of the shackle, discarded like a useless thing. It was useless, he assessed automatically, unrepairable with the level of damage it received._

_The doorway behind him was suddenly filled by a huge frame. The light suddenly went out, leaving only the scant little amount that could sneak in by the mech in the doorway. In the semi-darkness the reek of the fluids got stronger, the icy air that he felt got even colder. Ratchet spun around so fast that he lost his balance for a klik and had to lean onto the berth, his servo smacking the energon-covered surface. Any sounds he might have wanted to utter were stuck in his vocalizer._

_The shadow was on him before he could move. Pushed, he fell onto the berth, the cruel chains that waited just for this, snaked around his limbs, pulled them taut, his sensors feeling the mess he was laid onto, the fluids of… the scream that he wanted to air failed to come out as the shadow extended a servo towards him and grabbed his shoulder. It shook him and he expected it to crush and damage, but strangely the movement was… it wasn’t cruel, it wasn’t painful, it was…_

“RATCHET!” – he heard the shout that was louder than the laughter, saw the golden shape that blotted out the shadow, made it disappear… - “Ratchet! Online NOW!

It was Sunstreaker. Ratchet shot upwards from where he lay, in their berth with Sunstreaker. He was shaking all over, plating clamped close, securely, safely, only slowly calming down as he realized that it was just a dream. 

“Okay…” – he croaked as he saw Sunstreaker’s worried look at him. – “It was a dream. A nightmare.”

“About…?”

“Where I found Optimus…” – he wanted to leave out the part where Megatron’s shadow appeared.

“You screamed like it was you in his place.” – Ratchet couldn’t fool Sunstreaker, the twins simply knew him too much. They knew how he would hold anything that hurt him inside – and they did everything to draw it out, so it wouldn’t poison or trouble him any more. – “I doubt it was just an empty room.”

“Megatron’s shadow…” – he mumbled, hardly above the perceivable level. – “And the chains wanted to grasp me. You stopped it though.”

“Good.” – Sunstreaker looked hesitant for a klik but then carefully hugged the medic close. He was tense for a breem but slowly the tension melted out of his frame and he hugged the golden warrior back, thankful for his presence, his support, his… they never called it love. Neither of them was comfortable with that word, especially spoken aloud. Sideswipe could have been the one, the outgoing, easygoing one who should, who could say it, but he never did.

“How is Sides? How does he take cooped up in medbay?”

“Better than I expected. He seems to like being with Optimus, strange as that sounds.”

Sunstreaker grunted in response. He was surprised at first that his twin was able to sit in med-bay for orns, while he got bored anywhere else in a joor. Sideswipe, although he kinda closed down their bond, felt like enjoying what he was doing. Sunstreaker found that really strange. But admittedly feelings were not his forte, so he dismissed the sudden suspicion. He had no reason to be suspicious of his twin. He’d better care for the still distraught Ratchet, the medic was hard enough to nudge to open up about his feelings.

 

**Nemesis**

The situation slowly normalized on the Nemesis. The remaining Decepticons have all accepted Starscream’s ascension to power and his cease-fire with the bots. Those who did not and those who wanted to use the power-vacuum to achieve their own goals were gone. Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave, or as mechs called them the triumvirate was firmly consolidating their leadership. Most mechs on the Nemesis admitted to themselves that it was way better to have enough and good quality energon, not having to fear of Megatron’s erratic discipline and punishments and able to utilize the planet’s space freely, without an inevitable fight. Not that they were against fighting, but racing was far better without having to fight for the track first or have one’s joints and armour full of disgustingly sticky and organic matter. 

Megatron remained a taboo subject though. There wasn’t a mech in the Decepticon army who hasn’t been recruited and inspired by him, his speeches and his example. They believed him and they saw that he spoke true, at least at first, at the beginning of the campaign. The Autobots were the oppressors back then and they all felt it on their own plating at one time or another. They all came from the lower classes, the slaves, the military, the colonies, and they all believed wholesparkedly that the Senate was wrong, the nobles inbred, haughty idiots and the magnates heedless of anything but their income. 

But there wasn’t a mech in the Decepticon army who hasn’t been punished by Megatron, more often than not just as an example, not for an actual wrongdoing, who hasn’t seen how much he changed over the countless vorns. There wasn’t any mentioning of equality and freedom in his speeches for a long time. They only spoke of conquest, revenge and an eventual, far-fetched era of prosperity that no mech took seriously while scraping for their ornly energon. There wasn’t a mech who hasn’t seen his mistakes in strategy and how he blamed any mech around him for those. Yes, mostly Starscream. Yes, mostly they enjoyed seeing the proud Seeker beaten to scrap. Yes, they mostly believed that everything was his fault so he deserved it.

But when they thought about it, realistically – rare as that was - it was just impossible. Megatron did all the plans. Megatron directed all the battles. Megatron ordered them to attack, fight and eventually retreat. How could Starscream foul up everything on his own? There was just no way he could. He was pretty intelligent, cunning and whatnot but still. Decepticons rarely tried to view things emphatically but they weren’t stupid. Megatron was their hero still – but a fallen kind of a hero, a faded, glitched one after all those eons, perfectly capable of making costly mistakes and leading them into humiliating defeats.

None of them spoke of this while he was their leader though, not even to their best buddies, their gestalt members or friends. They accepted that Megatron led them by right and might. Right, because he started the whole thing and might, because he was stronger, faster and more cunning than any of them. They tried not even to think about discomfiting, disconcerting ideas and truths that could be called treason or betrayal. They left it to Starscream. They both admired and disdained the Seeker for being able to say those truths out loud – and pay the price for them. 

They never felt sorry for him though, not when he was half dead, not when he was humiliated, beaten or raped in front of all. They were Decepticons. Better any mech else than themselves. Starscream, like all of them could have chosen to submit, to keep silent, to give Megatron his due. He choose to be the voice of reason at first, the voice of criticism then and the voice of discontent at last. Megatron, predictably hated all those voices and punished the Seeker accordingly. Made him to be the scapegoat for all his own mistakes. The Decepticons both admired him for daring what they dared not and sneered him for suffering the punishments that they didn’t have to.

What went wrong, what line the warlord has crossed finally that the other Seekers did not take meekly any more, most of the Cons had no idea. That Starscream was in repair-bay for orns, none of them took as surprising. That the Constructicons disappeared was strange, but the Structies have always stood apart in the army and they have all seen deserters a few times. Usually they saw them strung up and whipped to deactivation after they were caught. That the Autobot leader was caught and tortured and the long-sought victory was closer than ever, they found unnerving and exciting at the same time. But the mood on the Nemesis was a strangely explosive one for all those things. 

Onlining one orn to a shipwide announcement that Megatron was deactivated and Starscream took the leadership, with Soundwave supporting him – it was the explosion they all felt coming. It spurred some to try and grab their own portion from the newly restructured leadership. Not many dared to directly challenge the Trine that deactivated Megatron; Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp together was a formidable force when they defended each other and this, all Decepticons knew. Even some of these reconsidered their first idea when Soundwave declared his support of them. 

But there were always some blind fools who couldn’t accurately judge their chances and so the Decepticon army was suddenly lacking some more members beside its focal point, its engine for vorns – Megatron. They were weakened considerably as an army and those, like Onslaught who could think clearly, knew that truce or peace with the Autobots was their only chance to survive and have some measure of say in their future fates. But not all mechs wanted to be concerned by grand schemes, only as much as it directly influenced them. 

Starscream was a rare sight these orns in the Nemesis common room. The Seeker took his new responsibilities seriously and was probably doing more shifts than any other mech on the ship. Not that they had a lot to do since the truce was declared. The Autobots’ racetrack was popular but Starscream kept a strict schedule for them that only allowed an occasional and not very long visit there. He knew just how fragile the truce was and as much as a short common activity could strengthen it, a longer one would bring out matters that festered for eons between them and were better left healing before spoken of. 

So, when he did come in, weary but with the everpresent and watchful Skywarp beside him, Aquablast decided to approach him. The Stormtroopers remained strictly neutral during the power struggle and now they had to make sure that their team was not overlooked for it. Neutrality is only good for as long as there are worse alternatives. Picking up his half-full cube – and his courage – Aquablast approached the Seekers, careful to be clearly visible and nonthreatening; Skywarp was clearly on a hair-trigger and the teleporter was a formidable enemy even for a bigger mech like himself.

“Lord Starscream?”

“Yes?” – he was answering but the tone clearly indicated that it had better be important.

“May I ask what your intention is about the Autobots? How will we go about this... ‘peace’ with them?”

Starscream stared at the green mech like he saw him for the first time. It was a bit unnerving and Aquablast fidgeted a little. 

“Why do you ask? Do you have an idea perhaps?”

“I... not exactly, My Lord. But I know that we will have to cooperate with them if peace is a real plan.”

“How would you cooperate, Aquablast?”

“I think… that is, I’d make small common projects in neutral grounds?” – the green mech wasn’t ready to be questioned by the Air Commander… no, he was Lord now, and he blurted out the first thing that came to his processor. Was he testing him?

“Not half bad of an idea. Make up and plan three such suggestions for projects that involve some of our mechs and Autobots as well. Present them to me or Soundwave in three orns.”

“Y-yes My Lord…” – now, Aquablast was confused. How did it became from him wanting to ask into him doing the plans? And what was in it for him or his team? Bt Starscream seemed to have read his mind.

“I need new lieutenants, Aquablast, who can function in peacetime as well. Prove me that you are one such.”

“I will, Lord Starscream!” – this, he understood. Advancement in the Decepticon army usually involved deactivating one’s superiors and the infighting has done that, leaving precious slots open. Even if the war was going to be over, the Decepticons needed a structure that they could understand.

“See that you do, Aquablast.”

He might be able to do it, Starscream mused. The Stormtroopers didn’t have a very good reputation, but they weren’t stupid. Besides this Aquablast approached him enquiring about the peace, so he at least wasn’t against it. The inherent nature of the Decepticon army, Starscream knew, simply wasn’t suitable for peaceful times, and wouldn’t be for a long time. Most of his mechs had no qualifications, no knowledge and mostly not even the will to do honest work either. They were used to taking what they needed by force, from wherever they could. 

He’d have to reeducate most of them if he was going to… hmm, that was an idea he could work with. The Autobots would love the idea of teaching Cons. Not that the latter would love to be taught, but then, it could start with small, practical things. Like… they had no medic at the moment and no Decepticon besides himself knew about first aid either. Ratchet was a mech even his Cons respected somewhat so it would be a good first attempt at that kind of a cooperation. Afterwards, he’d see what Aquablast would come up.

“Come on Star. You’ve worked enough and you’ve been thinking more than enough for one orn.” – Skywarp murmured into his audial, one servo ghosting the white wing seductively. 

He wasn’t against it either. Bonding was still out of question, even interfacing caused him tremble deep inside his chassis, but they took to snuggling together whenever they could. It was good enough for now, he could take it and reciprocate the nice touches that heated just slightly above mere petting. It saved him from the nightmares too and Starscream was glad for that. Megatron still shaded his processor everywhere, from the Command Center to the common room. His quarters, no mech dared to go even close to.

Thundercracker was the one who one orn took an arc-welder and welded his door completely shut, locking away the signs of him… well, not forever probably, but for a long time. He knew that it was illogical but it made Starscream feel better, like locking the tyrant’s quarters made him more removed, distant, nonthreatening. Soundwave told him that he’s already checked the tyrant’s safe for plans, plots or useful documents and when Starscream felt ready, they could go over them together. 

Their own quarters in sight, Starscream’s wings perked up in happiness, anticipating a well-earned rest and his mates’ company. Skywarp also saw his signs of content from behind and his field expanded to caress his own, joining him in happiness. At the last steps though, he turned back, like he saw something in the corridor, letting Starscream enter their room alone. The reason for it became apparent immediately as…

“SKYWARP!”

Starscream’s irate screech, only muffled slightly by the pink paint that dripped down on him, could still cause audials to short out. Skywarp too winced slightly – a few more steps backwards would have been good to save his poor audials from being damaged – but he laughed at the comical-ironic, half laughing, half furious face that Starscream made under the paint. 

“Skywarp!” – a deeper, but no less angry voice joined to Starscream’s sharper, raspy one, from the room. – “How could you even think of a…”

But he, too was stopped by the pink-painted, dripping, spluttering Starscream, when he started to… guffaw with gusto, far beyond what the simple, childish prank was worth. Skywarp caught on first and careening into his trine-leader, smearing his own paint-job with pink too, hugged the hysterically laughing Starscream close, joining him in mirth. Thundercracker stared at them with jaw slightly hanging in disbelief – never in the best of times was Starscream reacting this way to Skywarp’s annoying pranks – but at the end he shrugged slightly and went to join his trine-mates. Tugging them fully inside, he gave up being the responsible one and his smile slowly grew into a laugh too.

 

**Ark**

_I lost the sense of time some while back. At first, while I could, I chafed about being ambushed so easily and worried about Prowl’s fate. I saw him going down and laying unmoving in a pool of energon, before I too was put offline. The last I saw before that, and the first I saw after coming online again was of course Megatron. I remember that I was irritated by his mocking laugh, his taunts and threats as I lay chained on his berth unable to break the shackles. It was frightening to be there, to suspect what he was going to do…_

_I’m not sure what made his mind go off the deep end, what’s broken his always strenuous link with sanity. I only saw that he was totally uninterested in negotiating for my release, and being quite open about it. He was mocking me with how my Autobots tried to find me, to rescue me – but of course, not being in the Nemesis brig, not even in the interrogation chambers, they found no trace of me. He gleefully told me how more and more of my comrades gave up the search and voiced that they thought me deactivated. He even encouraged them to think so._

_That was while I still heard him, before he torn my audial fins off and locked me into my pain-filled world completely, cut off from the outside. His mocking laugh was the last I heard, the sound I had to take with me into the silence. He took my optics first, clawing out the crystals, the circuitry, the optic cable… and I felt his claws rend and tear my faceplates well after the world was darkness. My vocalizer was next and in a way I was glad that I could scream and beg no more. Yes, I, Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, chosen of Primus screamed in pain and begged Megatron to stop. I’m not even ashamed of it. There is such pain that causes one to do so. I know now._

_Of course he told about them giving up the search to push me into desperation – and I have to admit that it was working. As his torture grew more and more cruel, as my frame became more and more of an agonized wreck, the possibility to escape became from unlikely to nonexistent. I could no more move on my own and there were still the chains, Megatron’s bunker-like chambers, the whole Nemesis with all the Cons… no, I couldn’t escape at first and my chance to do so became impossible after a few orns. Knowing that my Autobots too gave up finding me just sealed my fate._

_And it was an increasingly long and painful fate. By now I am no more than a wreck lying in the chains - and that can be taken quite literally. I can perceive the world only by touch and the touch is inevitably Megatron causing me new pain. How he can still do so, I’m not sure. Is there a place on my battered frame that wasn’t touched, rent, defiled and destroyed yet, soit can be tortured anew? Most of the time, I can’t tell now where the new wave of pain comes, only that it does. I can’t even fall offline or into stasis as he forces me to stay online somehow._

_The only pain I still distinctly recognize is when he rapes me. How can he do it…? How can he still touch that mangled, bleeding, sparking mess that my valve must be? And why hasn’t the sensors there shut down or burned out? Why must I still feel every rape as the first one? And so, I am somewhat glad that I can’t scream any more. Not that he can’t hear it. He jacks in the hardline every time to enjoy my pain and humiliation, even after he hacked my processor. Yes, he. Not Soundwave. I never saw, heard or felt any of the other Cons but him. He did it all._

_Yes, at first he wanted my secrets, Autobots secrets, my knowledge to turn against them. After the relentless torture for I don’t know how long, he broke through my battered firewalls, shredded my agonized defenses. He laughed at my pleas not to do this and hacked my memory banks. Later he enjoyed taunting me with tales of how he used knowledge stolen from me to hurt the Autobots. I got the faint feeling that Prowl was logical enough to change all my codes and authorizations by this time, because he wasn’t as gloating as he could have been. But it was just a small consolation and I might have been my hopeful imagination. I have no way of knowing but I cling to this belief. I will perish but the Autobot cause remains._

_Things start to be muddy and confused in my processor. After he stole anything useful from my meta, he started on messing up things inside too. He gleefully shredded my coding, fragged up my programming and made me a glitched drone. I’m fairly sure that he fouls up my memories, changes them, implants false ones, because I start to perceive things that are impossible. The Cons can’t have won the war, I refuse to believe that one. My Autobots can’t be made to be slaves and pleasurebots. They can’t be the ones torturing me, Jazz wouldn’t do that… NO. I refuse to believe it. The Matrix… it is still with me. I know it. I KNOW IT. I don’t know many things these orns, but I feel this much. I can’t believe him, but I can’t believe my memories either. I stick to the Matrix, which is a fix point._

_The Matrix saved me from a spark-rape, I remember that and I’m sure it is a real memory… Megatron was cursing and hitting me when it gave him a shock after he tried to force a merge on me. He tore my chest plates away, forced the spark chamber open and started clawing at my very spark. If I could, I would have purged. I didn’t want him to touch my spark, to violate it too, like he did with my valve and mouth. But when he tried, when he brought his spark close, close enough so I felt its heat - the Matrix burned him somehow. He never tried it again, avoided my spark completely. Small consolation. Very small._

_I’m getting weaker every… orn I suppose. I must be bleeding energon from several dozen places and my self repair is a thing of the distant past. Megatron never repaired me and sometimes, when I’m lucid enough, I wonder what keeps me still alive. Pain is constant now, I can feel no new waves, no new torture. Some motion sensors still insist that my frame is moved sometimes, but whether it is true or just false impulses, I have no way of knowing. Sometimes I taste energon in my mouth but I cannot swallow it. I cough and purge it all, the transfluid taste, the oil and coolant from ruptured lines and the energon as well. I think._

_Slowly, my processor shatters from pain and his hacking. Thoughts are disjointed. Fears take their place. Pain laughs at me from every corner. Darkness swallows me whole. My meta is a battleground of false impulses and unknown input. I forget things now. I can’t find my memory banks. Where am I, who am I and why do I exist? Do I exist at all, or is it just pain that awakened?_

_The pain exists. It is all what I have._

_When it stops I’m more frightened than ever before._

_What happened?_

_Who am I?_

_Am I?_

_?_

_…_

_Pain is back. I am back. Pain is different from the earlier, relentless waves, it is small jerks and pulls now. I feel more of my frame than for… for a long time. I taste energon again and it runs down my intake without causing a purge. I seem to know again who I am. I am Optimus Prime. I think. Memories can’t be trusted. Memories were changed. Torture. Yes, I am - I was? – tortured. Only, the pain is ebbing. It shouldn’t if the torture was still on. Dare I hope? No. I repress any hope. Can’t trust anything._

_I lost time again. Offline? What is Megatron doing now? What new torture can he invent just for me? I feel nothing now. Absolutely nothing. I want to feel something. Even if it is pain, I want it. This nothingness is… bad. Worrying. Frightening. I fall back to terror. Memories rise and I can’t trust them. I don’t want to see them. I want to feel! I want the now, not the past! I am turned offline again. NO! Let me feel!_

_Online again. But feeling is back, pain is back. Is it bad that I welcome it back? I have a frame again, damaged, injured, mutilated, but I have one. It hurts everywhere, it misses a lot, parts, limbs, plates… helm. I still can’t sense the world. But it is there. I know. I am Optimus Prime. I have the Matrix. That’s all what I’m sure of. Memories are distorted. Megatron… no, no, NOOOO… I feel him jacking in again. I don’t want it. I fear it. I fight it._

_What gave the command to my limbs, I’m not sure. Why I thought that they could move? But I feel the uplink through an interface port and I flail, surprised that there are no chains to weigh down my limbs. I surprised him too. We fall, from the berth onto the floor and I end up on top of him. My digits find the neck cables, it is a stroke of luck I don’t want to question. But then, a force tears me off him and slams me back on the berth. I want to scream but I can’t. The arms holding me are not restricting. They hold me in a hug, almost gentle and I don’t have any more strength to fight them. A small sting and I’m falling offline again. I couldn’t do it. I failed. Memories rise again. Darkness._

_A voice rises from the dark, acid ocean of memories and through the poisoned fog of my meta. A velvety, sweet, but honest voice. Am I remembering it or hearing? I can’t put a designation to it. It is safety itself. It can’t hurt. It won’t hurt. I want to hear more of it. It blots out the screams inside. It overrides the cruel laugh that echoes in there all the time. It can’t be a memory. Does it mean that I’m regaining my hearing? I turn my head towards it. Yes, it is coming from one direction – outside. It is not a memory. I CAN HEAR!_

_I would sob, but I still can’t. I strain to hear more and I’m rewarded by voices. Voices in plural. None of them sounds like Megatron. I think that I should recognize them but memories still can’t be trusted. I am drawn to that soft, safe voice. The others are… harsher, different. This one is safe. I feel the servo that belongs to it, that resonates with the same frequency. Its field is the same as the voice: welcoming, cherishing, loving. I hold onto it. I don’t want it to go away. I want it to stay. I grasp it so it wouldn’t go. It is safe. It follows me into the darkness, dispels the memories that try to rise._

_When I online, it is gone. I feel betrayed. It was my anchor. My safe heaven. Another voice calls my name. Or is it a memory? I can’t trust it. It might lie. Where is the safe one? I turn my head, search for that voice. I don’t want this one. The darkness recedes and I can see light. I can see? I can’t know if I can or not. But the voice is back and I see a red blob. Red is good. Megatron is silver. That I remember. Red is calling my name. Yes, I am Optimus Prime. Still. I am alive._

_Red blob is Sideswipe. I know that designation. I know others now too, but Sideswipe is whom I recognize best. Red is good. Cons are not red only their optics. I can hear him, see him and I can even speak now. I think. Or do I just want to? Nothing is sure. I focus on him, try to make hazy, wavering shapes overlap – Sideswipe how my memories show him, the red mech who talks to me and the feel of the EM field close by. I can see but it’s not clear. Nothing is clear. I fight my way through the fog and arrive into light. Red blob now has a frame that I can see._

Optimus Prime sat up, deeply weary, hurt and confused still… but perceiving the world clearer than he remembered for a long time. At least he thought that it was real and not a corrupted, hacked, defiled memory that Megatron wanted to torture him with. But he was fairly sure that the tyrant wouldn’t have the imagination of making Sideswipe of all mechs care for him. So it had a fairly good chance of being real. The rest of them, Ratchet, Prowl, he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to… but he couldn’t. Not yet.

Turning to the side he saw a red frame slumped on the chair by his berth, in a deep, peaceful recharge. Sideswipe. Optimus Prime couldn’t help but feel good to see him. It made him feel safe, unknotted the twist in his insides, calmed down his frantic search for difference between false, corrupted memories and real, clean ones. It didn’t matter. Not while he had an anchor that he could be sure of.


	4. Twilight

**Ark**

Mirage retreated to his room more and more often these orns and stayed invisible outside of it. Mechs were generally angry at what he said after Optimus Prime was retrieved and his fate became known. Mirage didn’t understand them. He didn’t condemn the Prime for being violated. He didn’t believe that he was in any way responsible for what Megatron did to him. But mechs misunderstood him and didn’t give him any chance to explain what he meant.

Even on the racetrack, he could race normally only with the Cons. From them, he expected the grouchy, grumbling, insulting style and he got exactly that. They didn’t hate him personally, like most Autobots seemed to do lately. When they collided it was from risky overtaking or misjudged traction and not the cold shoulder of his fellow Autobots. He tried not to care but the eons spent together, the camaraderie and friendships crumbled his walls, made it impossible to shrug off the insults.

He was right, Mirage was sure of it. He meant no disrespect towards the Prime. He felt sorry for him and wouldn’t ever wish his fate on any mech. But strictures were strictures, even if he was the only one remembering it. Why did they all forget? He wasn’t even the most religious among the Autobots and still he couldn’t forget it once he remembered. Of course he had reason to remember, he thought as the dream swept over his processor…

_The nobles moved with elaborate grace in the well-practiced dance around the altar. It was their birthright to serve Primus as priests during their first dozen of vorns after attaining adulthood, albeit less and less choose to do so every vorn. Mirage’s Sire was of the older cadre and more or less told his creation that it was expected of him as a noble and particularly a noble from the House of the Golden Wind. He didn’t object to it, as being a priest gave him new opportunities to experience the world outside his Sire’s designs. Mirage wasn’t a rebel, wasn’t a youngster to overstep boundaries or challenge traditions – but he wanted to see, hear and experience everything that was within his right to do so._

_He moved among the other slender, refined, decorated frames, repeating the steps that were perfected throughout the eons to praise Primus and singing the hymn that was so old that no mech remembered its origins. Being a priest suited his nature, his introspective, quiet presence that was so much like his designation. He actually liked being a priest, so far as he didn’t have to be one forever. It was traditional, conservative and no mech wanted to change the way the services went at the whims of fashion._

_Sometimes it was harsh too, when a priest broke the rules and paid the penance for it. The traditions dictated those penitences and they came from an era harsher, more cruel than their own. They were the main reason why his contemporaries, the young nobles choose not to serve their God any more. Mirage disdained those who could not go without indulging themselves for a few vorns, be it high grade, cyberdrugs or interfacing. It strengthened his resolve, gave him a self-control and made him able to focus more inwards, into his self, his beliefs… and Primus who lived in each and every Cybertronian’s spark._

_The mech in front of the altar kneeled unmoving, guilt restraining his will just as chains did with his limbs. The priests danced around him and the altar, each step a refined jewel, each lash of the whip an act of absolution. Mirage only knew of his sin in general terms, even though the mech was one of his former friends, as much as he had friends at all. An older one, choosing the life of a priest for the rest of his existence, remaining in the temple even after his voluntary vorns._

_It was all the bitter experience to learn that he desecrated his frame that was dedicated to their God._

_Mirage understood love, he really did. It couldn’t be controlled and couldn’t be avoided when it came. But Primus was not a harsh and cruel God, not demanding absolutes and sacrifices from its priests needlessly. Arrowhead could have left the service and be happy forever with his lover – or bondmate if they chose that route. But he wanted the prestige of the church as well as the indulgences of interfacing. And that, Primus – and his priests could not overlook. It was the first lesson any volunteer-priests learned: Primus asked you to focus on him and his teachings and set any interfering indulgences aside as long as you dedicated himself to him._

_Arrowhead was a distant friend but Mirage brought down the whip just as much as his fellow priest. He had made a decision and now he learned that it was the wrong one. Had he just made it once, an accident, an unfortunate night cycle, a catastrophe of a rape… he would have been dismissed from the service, but that would have been all he got. No punishment for an accident or what wasn’t his choice. But he choose to continue to besmirch the temple and all the services he took part in. He persisted in his sin and shamed all his fellow priests when it became common knowledge._

_Mechs now avoided the temples because of him. Mechs now failed in their faith because of him. Mechs now blamed Primus for hardships because of him – and his like. Mirage saw many such cases over the vorns. He saw faith falter as mechs saw the priests become sinful. Priests must remain pure or Primus turned away from his creations. It was true to the newest noble donning the traditional glyphs and the highest of His servants, the Primes._

Mirage onlined in his quarters alone. His optics unerringly found the glyph on the wall, carved in the purest of metals, denoting Primus. He hardly ever prayed these days, but right now, the slender noble stood and bowed towards it, murmuring his vow and asking for guidance. He wasn’t a priest any more, but the strictures lived in him still, kept alive when, seemingly no mech else wanted to keep them. He asked Primus to show what he wanted, what he intended to the bearer of the Matrix. The most sacred of their posts, defiled and violated, even if it happened against his will. 

What was he going to do? It was clear that no mech supported him… at least none understood what he meant and he had little chance now to explain, seeing that every mech avoided and ignored him. Even Hound. And it hurt him in ways he never knew before. He thought that they became friends, understood each other to at least listen if one of them had something to say. But apparently even the normally unflappable green mech was not giving him a chance. That last, hard look he cast on Mirage did not promise any sort of hope.

-o-o-o-

“We have to try the hardline connection soon. He is clearly glitching.” – Smokescreen was long past frustrated by not being able to do anything to help.

“I attempted it about a dozen times.” – Ratchet sounded exasperated and tired – “He reacted the same way and from what he said I could understand why. I won’t force him.”

“It’s just once that you’d have to be a bit more forceful. It is necessary sometimes…”

“You mean force the interface, like Megatron did to him?” – the medic looked at him incredulously and not a little bit angry – “That’d be the surest way to destroy all trust we managed to build in him.”

“He doesn’t trust you yet.”

“But he learns to trust again – slowly and if we don’t destroy it by forcing the issue.”

“Ratchet… do you think I could try it? He trusts me.” – Sideswipe was content to listen to them so far but the idea rose up in him a few times when the matter of hardline interface was mentioned.

“But you are not qualified and you don’t have the medical overrides to get any deeper…”

“Maybe that’s good. I can’t force my way in, I can’t hack him, so he can feel safer than it was you just going through his firewalls.”

Ratchet paused to think Sideswipe’s argument over. The warrior had a point and maybe he could manage to make it work.

“But what can you do once you manage the connection?”

“Convince him that it is safe, that you are safe and to let him allow you to connect – through me?”

Not the first time Ratchet was wondering how it was possible that Sideswipe, a frontliner warrior cum easygoing prankster had more inkling to what would work and how than their resident psychologist. Not to mention the dedication he showed by staying at Optimus’s side all the time he needed it. He seemed to have a very special rapport with their leader, one that none of them would have thought before and what was nearly unbelievable even as they saw it clearly every orn. 

“Okay, let’s try it.” – he decided at last. – “We can’t afford not to attempt the connection as his glitches get nastier untreated.”

After the initial repairs and getting better, it was obvious to all of them that Optimus Prime’s condition started to deteriorate again. His sight, for one hasn’t got any better and many of his systems were acting similarly damaged, although physically, everything read fine. His motor coordination was completely shot, unable to even hold a cube of energon to drink or walk unassisted. But still, he refused any hardline connection, reacting as aggressively to all attempts as the first time.

Waking him up, Sideswipe helped him to sit, while Ratchet stayed in the background, ready to give directions through the comm but far enough not to crowd them. Sideswipe helped him to drink a cube and reassure him as to where he was – after recharge he was usually almost as confused as before, mistrusting and fearing them. It was sparkbreaking to see him so vulnerable, confused and lonely.

“Optimus, do you recognize me?”

“S-sideswipe? Yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

The silence was deafening in the small room.

“Y-yes.” – came the hesitant answer after a long pause. – “You are … real.”

“Optimus, we’d like to help you see and move better.” – Sideswipe started to explain like they discussed. – “You’d want that too, right?”

“S-see… yesss. Remember better?”

“That too. We can fix what Megatron did to your memories.”

“D-don’t take away them!”

“No, we will not do that. We want you to remember true. Your memory banks are glitched and we can fix those.”

“I want that.”

“But for that I have to connect to you with hardline. Do you let me? Do you trust me with it?” – he tried to speak sincerely and giving the decision completely to Optimus. The pain and fear on his faceplates were sparkbreaking, but Sideswipe saw the tentative hope also fluttering in the optics, fighting with his mistrust. He was ready to give him as much time as he needed, holding one servo only and making no move that could be misconstrued. 

“Y-you’re real.” – he declared after a tense breem, in a stronger voice. – “I trust you, Sideswipe.”

“Okay, Optimus, I’ll do whatever I can.”

It wasn’t easy and he almost reacted negatively a few times still, but at last, he let the hardline connector click into place on his torso, let Sideswipe cautiously connect to his systems and try to fix what he could reach without forcing his way in. He was by no means a programmer, but pranking did require some knowledge in the field, so he was able to look for and notice glaringly big glitches, coding errors and deliberate deletions. The firewalls themselves were in shambles, not even requiring medical overrides to get past. He was unable to fix most of the glitches, but after a few breems at it, when he felt Optimus relax marginally, Sideswipe motioned Ratchet to join him, through his hardline, working through the frontliner’s systems. 

There were some tense kliks as he felt the medic’s firmer touch, but after some flares of fear, Optimus accepted them working on his codes in this strange setup. The damage was extensive and Ratchet wanted to swear angrily quite a few times – only to have Sideswipe stop him before Optimus could be alarmed. It was no time for Ratchet to practice his usual stellar bedside manner. It took them joors to unravel some of the tangled codes, mostly deliberately fucked up, the rest trying to cope with the damage. Neither of them wanted to stop until it was ready, no matter how long it took; it was clear that they got this one chance from Optimus to fix his errors and he’d probably not want anther such hardline connection ever. 

But it was worth it. When they finally disconnected from his systems, the difference was drastic. He finally saw them clearly, recognized them and since he felt his memory banks responding as they should, able to be finally trusting what he remembered and what he saw around him. He wasn’t _fine_ , by any meaning of the word, but he would be now. Sooner or later. Smokescreen and Ratchet both agreed that the next step would be for him to meet others and see how he reacted. 

 

**Nemesis**

Aquablast was good. Or, if he wasn’t, he must have been afraid enough of Starscream to come up with several useful ideas, some of which he intended to put in action as soon as he spoke with the Autobots again. He even had the same idea as Starscream, about some Cons learning first aid from the Autobot medics. Expressing his approval to the mech, he appointed him to be the Autobot liaison which automatically meant a place in the command chain – the bottom of it for sure, but it was still more than the green mech achieved for millenias under Megatron. He was visibly thankful for it too.

One more mech, or, considering his team, five of them firmly on his side, Starscream thought satisfied. His rule was almost completely secured, the opposition – open and hidden – less and less as the orns had gone by. Megatron’s supporters were all dead or under close supervision, and they mainly had to struggle to convince mechs of the advantages of the peace treaty with the Autobots, that idea still not being universally popular on the Nemesis – or on Cybertron either, as Soundwave reported. Besides there were his personal enemies of course, the ones he insulted over the eons.

He was talking to Shockwave about the Cybertron situation when the command center door slid open and he sensed three mechs, the Conehead Seekers stalk in, uninvited, not having duty shifts either. Casting a glance backwards, assessing the situation, Starscream’s wings perked up suddenly, flaring to their greatest wingspan. Skywarp acted the same beside him and Thundercracker, working so far on a separate console stood up and hurried to take his place on his other side, both of them growling low from their vocalizers. Starscream unhurriedly finished his conversation to Shockwave.

“As you can see, I have a matter requiring my attention. I will call you back later.”

Starscream closed down the comm and turned towards the newcomers calmly, oozing confidence but maintaining his full aggressive posture. His Trinemates stood poised on his sides, half a step behind as proper; the full force and sheer presence of the fully trained warrior Seekers almost filling in the great chamber, intended to cow the challengers. The Coneheads stood in a similarly strict formation with Thrust taking the point as trine leader. They tried to exude the same power as the Elite Trine through sheer looks, but even though all of them were bigger than Starscream, it still didn’t quite work. The tricoloured Seeker was able to stare down Megatron on occasion, so he almost found the Coneheads’ attempt at psychological victory laughable. 

“You think that you can pose a challenge _to me_ , idiots?” – he sneered at Thrust openly, a wingtip twitching in a lazily laughing manner, like he could only assess this so-called challenge as a joke. It was even more underlined by the full seriousness of Skywarp and Thundercracker, both of them standing on his sides tense as tight strings, like two overgrown exclamation marks annotating his lazy confidence, eager to deal with whatever challenge presented itself. They almost had it written on their expressions, daring the Coneheads to compare themselves to Megatron, their latest victim.

Thrust almost made the mistake of turning his gaze away under the sheer power and confidence that seemed to radiate from the Air Commander’s optics. It was Ramjet’s ambition that needled him for orns after Megatron was deposed until he finally gave into his wheedling. Starscream was weakened, injured, overworked and challenged by mechs all over, he said, it was the time for Thrust to advance, never a better chance than win over the smaller, weaker, emotionally scarred Seeker. Skywarp is an idiot and Thundercracker is a dumb, lazy brute, he continued, and think of the prize if they won: they could be on the very top in one jump. It didn’t take long for Thrust to believe that and act.

But now, he saw none of the supposedly weak, injured, idiot and dumb mechs facing them and Thrust suddenly wasn’t so sure of what he wanted. Alarmed, he hitched up his drooping wings that reacted to the elaborate display of strength from the other Trine. He felt the despairing doubt slowly forming and oozing through their bond from Dirge, always the weakest link. Even Ramjet’s confidence had cracks appearing in it as he faced Thundercracker’s confident, strong façade. Suddenly Thrust realized that he had to answer Starscream, unless he wanted to loose without even trying. The nanoklik before opening his vocalizer he realized that he didn’t really dared to challenge these three.

“I demand to… I’d want to… I came to ask if… if we can… I mean we could… maybe we could do something to help, Lord Starscream?” – in a space of one broken, babbling sentence, he went from challenger to supplicant. Starscream almost admired him for the speed of his turnabout. Almost.

And he would weld Ramjet to the ceiling and let the cassettes have at him, if the fragger tried to whisper his idiocies again, Thrust thought angrily. Not that it’d help them now.

Starscream tried hard not to laugh and deal the final blow to Thrust’s self-respect. Then he wondered why he cared. The way they acted, the Conehead trine has just lost every bit of prestige they possessed and every chance to challenge them for… well, like forever. Amusement curled in the bond answering him, originating from Skywarp, but the black Seeker hasn’t shown any of it outwardly, holding his strict posture until Starscream allowed them to relent. The unpredictable prankster that he was, he still knew when it was serious – when it was Trine matter. 

“I will let it go this time, Thrust.” – Starscream’s voice was deadly serious, his tonals still hissing with power and deadly intent if opposed, the voice underlined with his threatening posture. – “These are troubled times and failings in judgments are excused… if they don’t repeat themselves.”

Thrust heard the threat in that last sentence loud and clear, just like Ramjet and Dirge. Hurriedly he lowered his wings and stood at a slightly trembling attention. He was terrified at what punishment Starscream would give them for the failed challenge but he wanted to stay alive. His trinemates too stood in his shadow, for once not even Ramjet let his big vocalizer run away with him. Dirge very nearly shook, only millenias of discipline under Starscream and Megatron saving him from it.

“You will be on spacebridge duty for the next decaorn doubling with monitors.” – Starscream’s rasping voice meted out their fate – “And if Swindle swipes a single item, the decaorn starts anew.”

It promised troubles for them. Many haggling joors with the fragging oily Combaticon trying to get his contraband to and from Cybertron past them. Many fragging joors with Ramjet trying to bulldoze him and Dirge trying – and failing – to con the con-mech. Thrust quaked in his thrusters but dared not voice a single objection. Not after such a pathetically failed challenge. Not after the surprisingly lenient punishment from Starscream. As they marched out of the Command Center, he heard Skywarp laughing out after them. It hurt more than the double duty.

Starscream relaxed his wings and nodded to his mates. Sometimes challenge did not come to blows and could be solved by simply intimidating their opposition into submission. Thrust has grossly misjudged the situation but he saw it for true at the last klik and backed off. It was rare, but sometimes it happened and he would be loath to kill any Seeker when they were so few. They could rest now for this orn – not only they deserved it but the orn itself was drawing to a close.

-o-o-o-

The sparkling twitched his tiny wing nubs, chirped loudly to get his attention and ran. The patches of red and blue that started to come out on his still soft, grey plating were making him look like a rainbow blur as he gained speed on the corridor. His thrusters were undeveloped yet so he couldn’t lift off, but he more than made up for it in ground speed. His assigned caretakers were usually hard put to follow him, especially since he could quite well speed under the furniture too. The only thing he liked better than running with the pattering of heels on the Nemesis corridors was flying in any Seeker’s cockpit he could cajole to take him up. Up there his chirping, clicking joy was almost palpable – so much so that he never lacked a willing flier to carry him up to the skies.

He was firmly addicted to speed and flying, to Starscream’s proud encouragement – it seemed that the little one inherited his speed in all things. In growing too, as Hook said, he was developing in a great tempo and they already dreaded the orn when he discovered how his thrusters worked – their job to take care of him would be just a hundred times harder then. Starscream’s watchful optics followed the little one on his streaking way around the rec room, weaving around the mechs’ pedes and under the furniture. All the Decepticons knew better than be inattentive while he was around. Not even the clumsiest mechs dared not to look where they put their heavy pedes these orns.

He was nearing the door and Starscream straightened up to see him among the throng of mechs milling around the energon dispenser, momentarily losing his slight patches of colour from his sight. Suddenly the crowd parted in a shocked, frightened silence and Starscream heard a sparkbreaking little yelp, a surprised and slightly afraid _ooof_ sounding behind them and stood, suddenly nervous. From between the line of mechs a great, menacing shape stepped into the room, holding a little frame in his huge, clawed servo, looking straight at Starscream maliciously. The grey hulk of mech lifted his servo up, tightening it imperceptibly, drawing a pained little screech from the sparkling so small it was barely visible there. 

Starscream stood frozen on the spot, denial and terror warring in his processor. His vocalizer seemed stuck and he could only whimper at the sight of the little one in the cruel fist, so small and delicate, so easy to harm by the slightest grip of those huge, savage servos. Lifting a begging servo himself, Starscream silently implored the mech… but knew it to be useless as he recognized the expression on the grey faceplates. Cruel, mad glee glinted in the optics, a mocking sneer twisted the lipplates into a ruthless mask. The talons tightened again and the small whimper strengthened into a hiccupping cry, the little one expressing distress and pain and a desperate call for his carrier to help him.

Starscream couldn’t stay still any more, couldn’t just beg uselessly any longer. Throwing himself onto the tyrant, he found his voice and shrieked his rage at him, trying to claw his sparkling out of the deadly grip. It was not enough, he was never enough, he knew but that didn’t stop him. He tore into the plating, to the servo cables, the energon line, not even noticing the blows that fell on him, using his claws, his fangs, everything he got. He had to save the little one. He must. Why was noone helping? Starscream fought on, screaming and crying himself in a desperate effort.

But ohh, it was so sparkbreaking to hear the little, crying voice gurgle into pain and the soft plating crunch in the relentless grip that he could not break. He was oh so close but still he couldn’t get to him, he was not strong enough, he had never been so... A small bead of energon was squeezed from between two claws, its bright pink painting an obscene ribbon on the grey servo plating. The little voice cut out and Starscream’s voice rose in pitch and volume until it hurt his own audials…

“STARSCREAM!”

He sat up, the last of the scream dying on his lipplates, tear-flooded optics frantically searching for the sparkling. But there was none, he knew as his processor caught up with the situation. He was only dreaming. The little, unnamed one has never had a chance to emerge, to grow, to run, to make his carrier proud. And Starscream couldn’t bear the loss alone, not after the dream. He drew his mates close, tears spilling onto their plating and he let the dream bleed into the bond, too upset for words yet.

“Ohh, Star…” – TC murmured soothingly, devastated too by the cruel dream, but trying to console Starscream, petting his wing lightly. – “He can’t be brought back but we’ll have other sparklings. We can now, you know?”

“Yeah. What with the war ending and that slagger gone. I’d love a little one - or two - around.” – Skywarp added in his more upbeat voice, just a tiny bit forced as the nightmare affected him too.

Starscream nodded, his processor acknowledging the truth of his trinemates’ words – but his spark throbbed painfully, feeling the loss and fearing it again, should it happen. These last few orns they got closer and closer to merging again, his determination and his mates’ gentle encouragement healing most of the mental and emotional scars that came from Megatron’s actions. He could again touch them intimately and let them touch him, their cuddling and snuggling warming into heated caresses sometimes. 

But he was not ready to merge again though and the dream didn’t help either. The more he yearned for the lost sparkling, the more he was terrified to lose one again. It didn’t matter that they had peace and Megatron was dead. He still had enemies, competition, Megatron’s supporters and a sparkling could be the way for any mech to get revenge on him. If anything, the dream just strengthened his resolve not to have a sparkling just yet. Since merging would likely kindle a sparkling now that his carrying protocols were awakened, he would have to avoid that too. 

“Star… you don’t have to bear your burdens alone now, you know that?” – Thundercracker’s deep voice reached to the depth of his spark. – “We are Trine. We are mates. Trust us.”

He was right. Starscream learned to repress anything that hurt him, anything that troubled him, because he couldn’t trust any mech around and because not knowing protected his trine-mates from Megatron’s wrath. He has never been a mech to seek others’ help, to trust any and solve problems together. But he should learn it. His mates deserved it now to know his secrets, his troubles – and ease them too. He had to trust them, because that’s what mates do.

“I’m afraid to have a sparkling still.” – he murmured quietly, leaning into Skywarp’s gentle caress.

“Why, Star? We have peace and we have energon now. There is even a medic we can call on.”

“Because we still have opposition and we are still Decepticons. A sparkling would be an easy target for those who don’t dare to challenge me openly.”

“It is true, but with every orn the opposition looses strength and your place is more solid. With Soundwave’s help we could keep a little one safe.”

“Yeah, Sounders would never let anyone harm a sparkling.”

“I think… it is still early to think of it. I want a real peace treaty signed, not just a temporal ceasefire, before I can think of sparklings.”

“I completely agree with that.” – Thundercracker assured Starscream – “But there is more to it, I can feel… Star, we can merge without creating a sparkling.”

“How?”

“There is a way, I know… Ratchet could probably tell better than me.” 

“Ohh, I can see, a visit to the Autobots is in order…” – Skywarp smirked at both of them – “I can hardly wait to compare pranking plans with those famous twins!”

The two elder Seeker stared at each other for kliks before announcing in a perfect concert that there was no way that Skywarp was going to the Ark. 

 

Ark

“Prowl… I’m glad to see you.” – Optimus’s smile was still a bit forced, his optics still twinkling a bit suspiciously, but he was ready to accept visitors. Both Ratchet and Smokescreen agreed that he could meet with the Autobots, but they let him decide when it was going to be. Since they fixed his coding and smoothed out the glitches his mental condition improved drastically along with his attitude towards them. He definitely started to trust Ratchet and to a degree Smokescreen and First Aid too, since he was able to access his true memories and set them apart from what Megatron messed with. They tried to delete those implanted, false, cruel bits but they were hopelessly scattered among real ones and even after some orns he still come across some of them. 

“It is good to see you up and awake, Sir. We are all glad to have you back.”

“I’m sure glad to be back. I hope that everyone else is all right?” 

“No mech is missing or injured since the ceasefire from our faction.”

Prowl was deeply grateful for the medical team – including Sideswipe – for the improvement that they achieved so far. Optimus looked and now even behaved something like his old self. Of course he knew that it was still a mask, that Optimus still hid plenty of insecurities and pain – but it was a huge improvement. In a few words he summed up the ceasefire agreements with Starscream, mentioning the Seeker’s reasons for agreeing to it and the effort that all mech put into making the peace real. He knew that for Optimus it would be a balm on his emotional scars to hear that the war had ended finally and peace was well on its way.

“I’m amazed at how you made it work, Prowl. Such a short time… you are a miracle worker.”

“The main credit should go to Starscream, Sir. Without him willing, we couldn’t have done so much.”

“I hope to express my thanks to him too. For my… survival too.” – Optimus never mentioned how many times he wanted to end his suffering and that he still wasn’t sure to thank Starscream for saving him or be angry at the mech for condemning him to carry on with the memories that plagued him. Unbeknownst to both of them, but his thoughts echoed Mirage’s slightly – only he knew that the Matrix has not given up on him so far. It used to be and continued to be his deepest anchor.

“He wanted to talk to you too, Sir. I will arrange him coming over when you feel ready.” – Prowl glanced on the medics standing in the background too for confirmation; besides Optimus, it was them who should say whether Starscream’s presence would be beneficial or not, indeed allowed or not. At Ratchet’s tentative nod, he started to plan the Decepticon commander’s visit.

“I’d like to see some Autobots first.” – Optimus Prime said, wanting to shore up his mental walls before seeing the Seeker. With his Autobots at least he could be sure not to have uncomfortable topics to come up. Or so he hoped.

“Of course.”

“One by one and three at a day only.” – Ratchet cut in – “Optimus, you still need a lot of rest and more visitors would overwhelm you.”

“Naturally. I will work out a schedule. Every mech wants to see you Prime, Sir. They are all worried about you.”

-o-o-o-

Jazz brought a small screen and after an enthusiastic greeting, carefully avoiding anything strenuous or uneasy he played a collage of the racetrack videos, showing Autobots and Decepticons racing, talking, and having high-grade together. Optimus almost drank in the pictures, visibly swelling with joy to see the peaceful scenes. Sideswipe too watched them longing. He didn’t mind being with Optimus for a nanoklik but racing was just too much of a temptation. 

“And we even see the Cybertron-based Cons sometimes” – Jazz said conspiratorially whispering – “We hope that Starscream would in time give us access to the space-bridge. I have already mentioned it to Aquablast.”

“Who is he? I can’t remember a Decepticon lieutenant by that designation.”

“Starscream reworked his command circle a bit. Soundwave is his Second now and Aquablast seems to be his liaison to us. He already suggested a few projects together.” 

“That’s… good to hear. The Cons are all warriors, in peace they need something to occupy them.”

“Yeah, Screamer wants at first to have a medic teach some volunteer Cons for first aid, as they still have no medic.”

“It is a great idea… if Ratchet is willing?”

“Ohh, I can handle a few Cons.” – Ratchet waved a servo unobtrusively, his favourite wrench just visible in it, smirking as most mechs present ducked their helms a tiny bit.

“That’s what I thought.” – Optimus was smiling, just slightly but a definite and real smile this time. Jazz beamed, the easygoing mech just as worried about Optimus’s recovery as the rest of them and just as glad to coax a real smile out of him as Ratchet to see it. Optimus seemed far better since the glitches were gone, but as his condition improved, he closed up his hurt and trauma inside, acting for their consolation. They knew that he would do so, since he has always been introverted and wanting to deal with his emotional issues himself, so it wasn’t surprising. He was even withdrawing a bit from Sideswipe too, not wanting to burden the frontliner with his problems.

From here it would truly be Smokescreen’s job to coax him out of this shell, make him talk about what he remembered and convince him to solve those traumas together. Ratchet quietly swore to himself not to let him back to the lightest of duties until he opened up again instead of burying the memories where they would come forward again to torment him. Looking all right would not cut it as far as he was concerned.

-o-o-o-

Bumblebee fought with his tears all the time while he was there, obviously told not to cry, but nearly unable to stop it. He was also almost unable to talk clearly, mumbling his joy to see the Prime up and lucid, but when Optimus hugged him close, he was gladly burrowing into the embrace, abandoning his attempts to talk and letting his field expressing all his chaotic emotions. The young bot was almost like a creation to Optimus and he considered the Autobot leader as a caretaker that he never truly had. His loss, while it hit hard all of them, almost devastated him and his miraculous return along with the wild rumours of torture very nearly broke the little spybot.

“It’s all right, Bumblebee, I’m okay now.”

“I’m so sorry, Boss, I’m terribly sorry! – he exclaimed after he calmed down a bit – “I couldn’t find you there, it was my fault too!”

“Shhh, Bee, I don’t blame you. I’m sure you did your best… and no mech is expected to deal with Megatron’s paranoia.. There was no way you could get into… his quarters.” – it took a real effort to talk about it, but Optimus felt that it was rather easier to console the yellow spybot than being coddled by well-wishers. 

“I should have…” – but upset as Bumblebee was, he still collected himself a bit and realized that Optimus might not be comfortable with talking about it, so he added – “But I’m real glad that you got back!”

“It’s okay, Bee. Tell me rather, do you enjoy the racetrack?”

“Sure I do! I mean I’m no racer but it is fun to take part anyway. Even the Cons behave themselves. Usually.”

“Have you talked with them or just race?”

“I… I talked with Soundwave’s cassettes sometimes. They’re not bad. We told stories… they were spies too. It was fun to hear their side of the things.”

Optimus smiled tenderly. Trust the youngsters to make up first, while the older ones carried their hurts and prejudices longer. Nevertheless, he was glad that the mechs, both Autobots and Decepticons made a real effort at a peace. He had hoped to return to Cybertron one orn and see it rebuilt, reborn. Maybe it was a fool’s hope… but when he looked at the younger bots, like Bumblebee, he dared to hope.

-o-o-o-

“Prahm…” – Ironhide fought with his conflicting emotions at the sight of him. He looked the same as before, the massive, red-blue frame just a bit more hesitant as he stood, the facemask missing and the optics a bit duller. Still, very much the same Optimus Prime as before. Or nearly so… Ironhide stepped just inside the isolation room, a forced half-smile on his lips. He, just like everyone else was instructed to be _positive_ and talk about anything else but the captivity. Only, Ironhide found it hard not to think of it.

“Ironhide.” – Optimus was smiling openly. Ironhide was an old friend, one of the oldest among the Autobots, one of those he could always confide in when he felt a bit under the weather. 

“Ah thought ye be dead, Prahm…” – the gruff voice was almost choking with repressed emotions. 

“I was very nearly dead too. But it’s over now.”

Ironhide ruthlessly fought back the instinct to say something even himself was shocked to think of. He almost said that it would have been better for Optimus to die and he knew where it came from. When he looked at Optimus, he saw not only the repaired, repainted and cleaned frame of his old friend and leader… but the one defiled in the worst ways by Megatron as well. He couldn’t repress or forget the mental picture, the tyrant enjoying his friend’s body in obscene ways.

“Ah… Ah’m glad Ratchet put ye back together.” – he stammered out, smile going sour, twisting into a grimace.

“What is it Hide? Why are you so… sad?”

Optimus Prime looked at him uncomprehending, his joy of seeing the old friend dissipating at Ironhide’s obvious distress. Sideswipe, in the background glanced up from his datapad. He was not going to interrupt any of the reunions but Ironhide was starting to get strange. He didn’t move any further into the room, he wasn’t either relaxed or positive as suggested, in fact he looked nervous and… the red warrior frowned as he tried to identify the vibes that Ironhide exuded. _Rejecting-disgusted-condemning._ The old warrior’s field was seriously bad. He commed Ratchet while standing up and getting closer to them. Ironhide didn’t look aggressive but at the state Optimus was even just a verbal rejection could be detrimental.

“Ah just… Ah can’t forget… what that monster did ta you!” – Ironhide exclaimed angrily, the sudden, red fury covering up all the complex vibrations in his field. He saw a silver shadow over the red-blue chassis, he saw silvery stains on his frame, he saw marks of grey paint everywhere… and he almost retched.

Sideswipe stood on Optimus’s side, his servo coming up in a silent support while Optimus lurched backwards, uncontrolled into the berth as though physically pushed away. - “Ironhide, calm down.”

“Hide… I thought… you were glad to see me back…”

“Prahm… Ah… just can’t.” – he cast a helplessly disgusted look at Optimus that felt like a stab from a vibroblade and shifted his stare to Sideswipe – “How can ye touch ‘im?”

Sideswipe’s growl was low and more dangerous than any he gave to even rampaging Decepticons. - ”How dare you say such a thing?”

“Ah can’t forget… that slagger defiling him.” – Ironhide gave up and turning on his heel, almost crashed through the slowly opening door, nearly bowled over Ratchet who just arrived and looked after him surprised.

“What happened to him?”

Optimus fell back onto the berth, his great frame slowly folding onto itself as shock shook him to his core. The rejection was a nearly physical blow to his tender ego and his shoulder trembled with silent sobs under Sideswipe’s servo. He answered to the medic through his comm, while trying to calm down the Prime.

_“Ironhide called him defiled. Fragger rejected him for what Megatron did.”_

_“Slag. I’ll kill the idiot!”_

_“After me.”_

It took them the rest of the orn to calm Optimus and even then, Sideswipe was sure that the disgust that his oldest friend showed hurt the Prime on a level that might have been deeper than anything Megatron did. He just couldn’t understand the cruelty of it. If Ironhide felt like so, then why did he come to visit the Prime? Why couldn’t he stay away and stuff his fragging opinion away like the abomination that it was. How could he hurt Optimus after all he’d gone through? Ratchet couldn’t answer to his questions, as the medic was struggling with much the same ones as Sideswipe. Smokescreen tentatively offered his opinion that it wasn’t as conscious from Ironhide and only came out when he saw his friend optic to optic. That was their best guess as Ironhide himself was not to be found anywhere on the Ark or its surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I have only the haziest knowledge of coding and programming so the part about Ratchet and Sideswipe fixing Optimus’s codes through a hardline connection is the best I could imagine it. Any errors there are exclusively mine.
> 
> 2\. In the Nemesis scene, I wanted to show that not all confrontations end in violence, even among the Decepticons. Posturing and show of power is always the first step in some semi-ritualized confrontations and Seekers are exactly the kind of mechs to act this way. Sometimes, like here, it is the only step in the dance, as the challenger decides that he bit more than he could chew and stands down. 
> 
> 3\. I freely admit that Ironhide is not my favourite character, but he is the one that might react this way to what happened to Optimus. It tears him apart, because he wants to be the old friend to him, but simply cannot.


	5. Dawn

**Ark**

“Sideswipe…” – Optimus Prime’s voice was still not like months ago, but stronger by the orn. This time though, he sounded nervous, as he was sitting on the med-bay berth. He was getting better by each orn as they went by, but still felt vulnerable inside. But he tried to hide that from every mech, even Ratchet. 

“Yes, Optimus?”

“I want to thank you… well, everything you did for me.” – he motioned around indistinctly with a servo. – “Being here, supporting me… everything.”

“It is not…”

“Don’t say that it was nothing, please.” – Optimus lifted the servo, like he wanted to touch the red plating of Sideswipe who sat beside him, but stopped the motion – “It meant a lot to me. Everything.”

“I…” – the red twin wasn’t sure what to say. This emotional slag wasn’t his forte. He squirmed slightly and plowed on – “I helped gladly. I’d do it again if… well, anyway.” – he finished rather lamely.

“I don’t know if I could pull through if not for you.” – the gestures were still a bit hesitant, the blue of his optics still a bit dimmer than usual, but the mask hid his face and superficially, Optimus Prime seemed his old self – “I just want to say that I appreciated it… a simple thank you can hardly express it.”

Sideswipe hid his growing unease and stopped his slight squirming. All these thank yous and appreciation… while it was nice to hear and he certainly liked being thanked, it still had the underlying, unsaid but perceivable notion that stemmed from the use of the past tense – that he wasn’t needed or his help asked for any more. He could understand it really – his presence probably reminded the Prime of things he’d rather forget, his weak, helpless and vulnerable state. 

“I was… glad that I could help…” – he murmured finally, not wanting to show his inner turmoil. 

“You must miss being outside, with the others, on the racetrack…” – Optimus didn’t want the red warrior to leave, not so soon after Ironhide… but he knew just how much time Sideswipe spent in here, with him lately. He still didn’t feel all that stable and strong, but he couldn’t lean on him all the time. He shouldn’t, the big mech corrected himself, Sideswipe had his own life and everything… - “You must miss being with Sunstreaker more.”

“Yeah… a bit.” – it was true, Sideswipe admitted to himself, neither of them took well being separated, even if it was voluntary, like this time. – “But I can stay if you need it…”

“No, just go to him.” – the voice nearly trembled, but Optimus Prime steeled himself. He shouldn’t ask more of the red twin that he’s already gave. 

Sideswipe stood hesitantly but he didn’t want to appear overbearing – if Optimus didn’t need him any more, then he’d leave the mech his space. 

“If you are sure…” – he murmured and at the Prime’s nod he left with heavy steps, missing the helpless look that the big mech cast after him. Walking down the corridor, he suddenly felt empty and the bond with Sunstreaker flared up _::What’s with you, Sides?::_

_::Nothing… just feeling a bit strange. Are you up to a little race? I hardly saw the track everyone speaks about so far.::_

_::Sure. Meet you there?::_

-o-o-o-

Optimus Prime stood straight until Ratchet and Smokescreen left, pulling his field close and keeping his faceplates relaxed. If either of them thought him just uncomfortable, they’d continue pestering him, coddling and walking on tiptoes around him – and they’d certainly not let him hide… no, scrap that, _stay_ in his own quarters alone. But he badly needed some alone time and the medbay just wasn’t made for that, even in that secluded room. 

He needed to come to terms with his experiences himself – Optimus Prime didn’t want to insult their resident psychologist with doubting his expertise and ability to deal with traumatic experiences and even accepted the mech’s offer, just like Sideswipe’s until he needed such help to lean on; but he felt that it was time for him to face it alone. 

Once the door closed he let the shudder shake his plates all over and opening the facemask, he rubbed his faceplates with both servos. He sat on his chair heavily, leaning on the table. A cube of energon was the only object where a few months ago heaps of datapads would have covered all surfaces. He toyed with the cube, sipping a tiny amount and making a grimace at the biting taste of the high-grade. The slight burn was a welcome warmth in his intakes and the amount was far from causing even the slightest overcharge. 

Picking up the cube and standing up, he swept his glance over the room. Nothing changed here, nothing else was missing but the signs of his work from the table, but it still felt strange. Alien almost. Like it wasn’t _his_ any more. It was far too orderly – Prowl had probably gone over the datapads and carried what he needed into his office, while arranging the rest in neat lines on the shelving unit. So neatly as only Prowl could.

He ambled into the doorway and stopped before he could step into the berthroom. Another shudder cursed through him and convulsively, he drank a mouthful of the high grade to fortify himself. The berth stood out in the semi-darkness of the room, the lightning from his office space casting its rays over it. His servo slapped on the wall to bring the lights on. Darkness was… it was still uncomfortable. 

“Teletraan: modify the lightning pattern in my quarters. If I’m in, even in recharge, ambient light levels at 20 per cent continuously.”

“Affirmative.” – the disembodied voice answered and a small knot in his tank unfurled at the steady voice. He was alone, but he wasn’t completely if needed. Others were around, just a call’s away had he needed them. The knowledge was doing him good, making him relax marginally.

He stepped into the room, circling the berth like he would a beast lying in wait for its prey. Primus! Could he be any more pathetic than that? But the berth still caused a deep unease in him. The medbay berths were so much different. Sterile with clean lines and blinding whiteness to spot any dirt or fluids. Safe. Something his own didn’t look any more. How was he going to recharge on it? His processor tried to find and grasp differences. It wasn’t like _that one_ … he’d need a few pillows.

Many of the crew affected them since coming to Earth, indulging in the softness of organic materials that no metal could offer. Yes, they would make all the difference. But whom to call, where to get some…? Optimus almost called Ratchet but stopped the last klik. The medic has just gone off shift after being on call for the last few weeks. Let him rest and be with his… lovers. His processor poked at the word cautiously. It was safe. Unlike interf… which was not and he didn’t repress the hard tremble that run through him. He nearly broke down when it was casually mentioned by one of his visitors.

The same with Sideswipe – let him be with his twin and Ratchet. The red warrior was a surprisingly pleasant company and his absence elicited a sharp pang somewhere deep down. He nearly yearned to have the safe, calming and familiar red frame hovering beside him. It felt so… good somehow. But Sideswipe had his own life and he shouldn’t lean on him any more. He told Ratchet that he’d be all right alone and he would make it so. If only to prove the skeptic medic wrong.

He was stalling, Optimus Prime knew. He didn’t want to think of Ironhide… not yet. It was like an unhealed wound, far too tender and hurting to try and start to deal with. How many others have thought the same… the thought rose unbidden in his meta and his tank heaved at it. His Autobots were a good group, good mechs… but he used to be an idol for most of them. To see that idol broken down, torn apart and sullied must have changed how they looked at him. He wanted to have trusted old friends like Ironhide to stand beside him and help with that. 

Well, no such chance now. He’d have to face the crew the next orn alone. Not completely alone of course – but Prowl, a brilliant officer and tactician as he was he couldn’t be an emotional support that he’d need, their relationship just wasn’t that kind. Jazz would be working on the crew as was his forte… Optimus realized that they’ve all counted on the weapons’ officer to be there for him personally. 

He realized that he still held the cube in his servo and sipped a mouthful of the fortifying energon. The berth still stood out in the room, uncomfortably so, therefore he turned and picked up a datapad to read, escaping to the outer room, thankful of the comfortably lounge chair that was placed there. To his best knowledge he’d never before utilized it… albeit he knew that his best knowledge, his memories were more than a bit shaky at the moment. 

Another thought that was not the best idea to pursue. His thoughts stumbled over the concepts like they were hurdles he must take. Ratchet said that he recovered most of his memories from… from before and he med-locked all that came… that came after. Even though, he was still uncomfortable trusting his own memory banks and that was something causing a deep processor-ache. How could he function normally when he couldn’t trust in his own memories?

It hurt to watch his officers, his friends with suspicion that they could still be creations of his tortured meta, his hacked processor. It hurt them too, he wasn’t blind not to see the flinches, the uncomfortable silences when he drew away from a calming servo, when he stared Ratchet waiting for him to dissolve into a cruelly laughing glee of M… slag, he must think of something else. Dwelling on it is not dealing with it, Optimus Prime admonished himself. 

After the last sip from the cube he put down the datapad, giving up reading after realizing that he had no idea what it was about at all. His thoughts overwhelmed anything he tried to distract them with. Nearly in panic, Optimus looked around again, desperate to find something to calm his tumbling and roiling emotions. His glance caught on the last door on his left and the solution became clear: a long wash and wax that he could indulge in. Ratchet and Sideswipe did their best to clean his plating with solvent-soaked cloths but nothing could be the same as a real wash.

The wash racks had one last hurdle before he could enjoy the warmth – standing in front of the mirror, Optimus Prime forced himself to look over his frame, to take in the faint lines of repair, the newly painted components, the brisk, stiff newness of… well, most of his frame. He wanted to be aware the newness, the feel of being as much a different mech as it was possible from the one broken and torn beyond repair… he had to put that broken frame behind him and think with the whole one.

A servo rose and stroked along the facemask that hid his faceplates comfortably. It was the first thing he lost and he was even more reluctant to open them than before, even in the privacy of his quarters. Fleetingly he thought of making them permanent even… not that Ratchet would ever agree to that of course. It provided privacy and a safe defense… not from physical harm but from everything else.

Turning from the mirror he stepped under the showerheads and let the warm solvent patter on his plating. Closing his optics he leaned his helm back to let the warm liquid flow over his faceplates, neck, front and take all the dirt, grime and remains of fluids, real and imagined from his seams. He didn’t doubt that they’ve cleaned him from all that sullied him and most of him was brand new anyway – but he needed the sensation of being clean again. If he ever could feel clean.

Grabbing a heavier brush from the nearby shelving he got down to it. Forceful, nearly angry movements dragged the brush across plating, dipping into seams between flared plates, exchanged with a smaller one when needed and he scrubbed himself nearly desperately for joors. At the end he felt tired and spent, leaned to the wall under the still flowing warm solvent and let it caress his buzzing, tingling, but above all clean plating. 

It took a determination to tear himself from the pleasant sensation and close off the shower but at least he was tired and comfortable enough not to freak out when he lay down on the berth. The dim but still there light was comfortable and soothing away illogical fears. He was in recharge before he could feel the barely perceivable medical ping from Ratchet, checking on him. 

It was a start.

-o-o-o-

“Ratchet. Can you tell me what _really_ happened?”

Prowl rarely, if ever sounded this annoyed. Usually just Sideswipe’s worst pranks could elicit such level of irritation that vibrated now in his doorwings held high and his lipplates pressed together into a straight line. Ratchet turned towards the SIC slowly from where he was fiddling with a recalcitrant sensor and scowled back.

“Elaborate please, Prowl. Much as I can usually read what the whole lot of you are hiding, mind-reading is not among my abilities.”

“Ironhide.” – The Praxian’s voice was clipped and curt, like he expected the medic to bypass the snarking and spill the story. If he expected that though, he didn’t count with a stubborn medic.

“Ironhide was released from med-bay 15.2 breems ago. Or was it 12.5 breems? I must check. Primus forbid to give you the wrong data. The report should be on your desk by the start of next shift.”

“I want to know what happened that ended him up here.”

“Well, don’t ask me then. I’m just a medic who puts you slaggers together. Much as I’d love sometimes, I don’t cause your injuries.”

“But you do know nearly everything that the crew does – especially if it involves injuries.”

“Why don’t you read your precious reports instead of asking poor old me?”

“Because they say slag.”

Ratchet lifted up his helm and the sensor stopped in his servo. To hear the normally reserved SIC swear so… he must be in a fine mood. The medic decided to go easy on him.

“They were racing. They crashed. They ended up here with their sorry afts in pieces and dented. No serious injuries. End of story.”

Prowl looked stormy and his doorwings nearly vibrated behind him.

“No, that is the slag they all say in the reports. But I happen to know that Ironhide doesn’t race. So how exactly did he end up in the bottom of the pile-up covered with dents and – as you say in pieces?”

“As far as I know he went into the track to pull apart two hotheads who were getting it on.”

“And?”

“And there was a communications mishap and the race wasn’t stopped. Tracks couldn’t swerve around him in time and the rest of the field crashed into them. Made a pretty pile-up according to the descriptions”

“So it was an unfortunate accident.” – The SIC’s voice was dry and emotionless again.

“Of course.” – Ratchet proved that his voice could be just as nonchalant as the Praxian’s – “What else could it have been?”

“Prank, revenge, insubordination, Decepticon plot…?”

“Learning paranoia from Red Alert? It isn’t like you, Prowl.”

“It is not paranoia when I know that something is kept from me.” – Prowl regained his calm but Ratchet saw the determination in the angle of his doorwings – “As soon as Jazz comes back, I will know it for sure.”

“Why asking me then?”

“I had expected that you, being an officer would not be among those who try to cover up something.”

“I have only my suspicions, Prowl, but I know that you want facts. And unfortunately I can’t give you that.”

“Because the twins are able to hide anything from you. Please, Ratchet, don’t insult my intelligence.”

“Why do you think that the twins did anything?” – Ratchet started to get angry. Yes, Sideswipe was pranks themselves impersonated and yes, Sunstreaker went after any mech he felt deserving it with a determination that completely disregarded rules and regulations, but he knew and Prowl should know too that lately neither of them did anything. Slag, Sideswipe hasn’t done a prank in groons.

“Who else?”

“For one thing, Sunstreaker wasn’t even involved in the pile-up.”

“But Sideswipe – according to your medical report – was.”

“Just like a dozen other mechs, including three Decepticons, all suffering some damage. Even if Sideswipe pranks someone, he rarely has an accomplice beside Sunstreaker. Certainly not this many.”

“So you maintain that it was an accident, nothing else.”

“I have no reason to think otherwise.”

“Not even the way Ironhide reacted to Optimus.”

Ratchet looked up, his optics incredulous, his servos stopping their everpresent movement that was now picking a scanner apart to fiddle with its insides.

“Now, how would that be connected to the accident?”

“If – and I don’t accuse him, not yet – if Sideswipe took it upon himself to get back to Ironhide for what he perceived as insulting, then this so-called accident immediately comes into a very different light.”

“Sideswipe didn’t cause the accident. Tracks did. So that’s it for your suspicion.”

“But he could tell what happened and persuade him to act.”

“Sideswipe might be an easygoing and rules-bending mech generally, but he wouldn’t tell such personal secret to anyone. Other than Sunstreaker, that is, but they can’t keep a secret from each other anyway.”

“Are you sure of that?” – Prowl held his doorwing in a _not convinced but skeptical_ position.

“Yes. I know that you don’t like him and suspect him all the time – mostly rightly, mind you – but he has some lines he wouldn’t cross. He took the whole thing with Optimus very seriously.”

“I see that you are adamant on this.” – Prowl knew that with Ratchet this sure of things, it was either as he said or Sideswipe a whole lot better actor than he gave him credit for.

“I am.” – Ratchet shrugged.

He had his suspicions as he told to the SIC earlier, but they weren’t centered around Sideswipe. Prowl might be surprised by the effectiveness of the Ark rumour mill but the medic wasn’t. Any news, especially something like such a scandalous one like Ironhide’s behaviour would be spreading like wildfire in an oil-refinery and usually not even he could pinpoint the sources or the stages by which it spread.

It was the nature of rumour… and once it spread there needed to be no perpetrator or organizing force to arrange things. The crew loved Optimus, bar a very few mechs, and such a betrayal by the one they all expected to be his emotional support was inevitable to have a strong reaction. No, Ratchet shook his helm, there was not even a discussion probably. They just acted, all of them and Ironhide was lucky to get away with just a few dents. 

Quite a few rather, he thought, suspecting as well that not all dents were caused by the cars piling up – as the crashed mechs transformed off of each other, there had to be errant limbs swinging this way and that… his report did not contain speculations of fist or pede-shaped dents. He stuck to the facts and repaired them regardless of the shape.

“Where is Ironhide now? Is he cleared for duty?” – apparently Prowl decided to drop the matter and relax his doorwings. It was high time, the medic grumbled inwardly, they were going to get kinked if he held them taut for much longer. 

“I have cleared him yeah. As to where the slagger is, I have no idea. I’m not his keeper, you know?”

“Understood, Ratchet.” – Prowl made to leave but turned back to the medic for a few last words – “Ratchet… no matter what we think of it, Ironhide is a fellow officer. His personal views are not our concern over making sure that it doesn’t hinder Optimus Prime’s recovery.”

“The slagger has already done all the damage he could cause.”

“None of us could foresee that.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier to erase it from Optimus’s meta.”

“True. But retaliation against him won’t help Optimus either.”

“I hope you’re not implying now that I did something.” – Ratchet’s voice took a distinctively threatening tinge and his posture became tense.

“No, Ratchet, I don’t. I just hope that in whatever ways the news of what happened spread, this one will too. Good orn.”

Ratchet scowled after the leaving SIC. Slagger left with the last word and now he felt beholden to make sure the crew didn’t take any more revenge on Ironhide. 

 

Nemesis

Starscream was tired. He hardly even remembered the last time he was this strut-deep tired. Leading the Decepticons was harder work than he’d ever thought. Of course peace was something neither of them quite knew what to do with and he was still missing capable lieutenants, but still. He had to go and collect three angry Stunticons from that fragging racetrack and talk them out of their predicament, because Prowl was sure that they collided with Ironhide deliberately – that mech was more paranoid than was healthy.

Even his mates caused him more work, he scowled; apparently once Skywarp saw the success of his infantile prank, he decided to make the general mood better with more of the same. Thundercracker of course could never say no to their mate when dragged into a plot… And who had to stand between an enraged triplechanger and his incessantly giggling mate? Yes, he.

And he couldn’t even look at the mech without himself too starting to smirk, the glyphs were just far too… cute on the dark plating, wishing well for a nonexistent sparkling and praising Blitzwing’s worth as a carrier, with mixed in painted pink bows and flowers imported from Earth’s customs. Nor could he hit the towering flier – not even Skywarp could teleport them to safety if he decided to strike back. He managed to calm down the mech finally, with sheer intimidating looks and his personality, but it took a lot out of him. 

“Skywarp! You will cut back on the pranks or next time I’ll let him have you for a breem and look the other way.”

“But Staaaar…!” – No other adult, fully grown mech, a warrior Seeker at that had he ever known who could pout like Skywarp. It took even more out of Starscream to withstand the pouty lips, the wide, garnet-red optics and the slightly trembling wings.

“For a joor then and I won’t let TC save you either.”

“Okay, okay… but it was funny, I saw your wings!”

Starscream glanced around quickly, saw that they weren’t observed or overheard and allowed a slight smile to draw his lipplates.

“It was… but if I hear that back, you are officially repainted neon pink and forced to stay that way!”

Skywarp shuddered and for a nanoklik looked frightened at the prospect. Then he shrugged it off, hugged the surprised Starscream and started to draw him with gentle force.

“Come on Star, you look dead on your thrusters. I’ll bring you energon and then recharge is in order and I promise no pranks until next orn. Deal?”

Starscream cast a tired look at his overly cheerful mate and nodded. He was exhausted and being pampered sounded great. The Nemesis and its occupants should just manage themselves for the night cycle. Soundwave deserved his rest too after working nonstop for the last three orns, seeking any sign of the Constructicons in the nearby space, even if he couldn’t find any.

They stopped at their quarter, Starscream realizing that in the midst of his thoughts he didn’t see anything of the way there at all, just the flash of purple when Skywarp appeared again, balancing a few cubes in his servos and signalling the door to open. Thundercracker glanced up from the monitor and seeing them, started to shut it down, saving the report as it was. He stood quickly and saved the cubes from tumbling off Skywarp’s servos as the irrepressible black Seeker danced in and attempted to drape himself over his trine-leader. 

The blue Seeker dragged them all towards the berth where they could flop down comfortably, tangled into each other as they liked best in a heap of limbs and wings, interspersed with several pillows like the crunchy bits in an oil cake. He caressed a limply hanging white wing that was draped over his legs, watching as Starscream sipped his cube, noting the tiredness in his dim optics.

“Long orn, Star?”

“You have no idea…” – he cast a half-glare towards the snuggling Skywarp, scuffing the black wing closer to him half-sparkedly – “Even without his antics.”

“You liked it!”

“True, but I had to talk Blitzwing out of dismantling your wings first.”

Thundercracker joined to Starscream with a stern look but he could never hold it long towards their mate and Skywarp wasn’t looking at him anyway, so he gave it up fast. 

“What else did you do beside painting Blitzwing?”

Skywarp rolled over, flicking a wing out of the way and pushed himself up on his elbows playfully, his thrusters wobbling in the air. At times like these he really looked nothing more than an overgrown sparkling. His giggle thrummed through their bond and warmed their sparks in subtle ways. Starscream put down the empty cube and snuggled closer to him, drawing Thundercracker with him too. He petted the adorable black wings and Skywarp squirmed, his answer a lot more breathy than before.

“I didn’t paint him! They were all stickers.”

“Whatever.”

Instead of an answer that Star wouldn’t believe anyway, Skywarp leaned towards him and suggestively, lightly brushed his lipplates over the golden cockpit. His servo never stopped stroking the wing under it and the black Seeker felt the white metal getting warmer under his ministrations. They weren’t sure how Starscream would react still, but Thundercracker too was game to try something more suggestive than snuggling close. It was up to him to decide how he’d react.

A sky-blue servo coming up and fondling his wingtip was more of an answer that he hoped. Thundercracker moaned and glanced at Starscream, to make sure. At his raised brow-plate, the dimmer, darkening optics of Starscream flashed him affirmatively, his helm nodding tiredly, but it was definitely a yes. Warning Skywarp through the bond to go slow, the blue Seeker bent and stroked his servo along the slender legs, slowly, sensually, dipping into each seam on his way. 

By the time he reached the thrusters, Starscream was panting slightly under their pleasurable assault and barely able to reciprocate with shuddering blue digits curled around their wingtips. His mouth was captured by Skywarp in a slow, drawn-out kiss, quite unlike the usually brash Seeker. Starscream moaned into the kiss as he felt a glossa drawing its tingling trails up his thighs and swirling over his interface panel.

Moaning loudly the white thighs spread to give more access to the blue Seeker. Skywarp drew his upper frame into his lap, kissing him from upside down and stroking his wings sensually. Thundercracker laid among the white legs, talons still fondling seams, glossa licking the red panel like it was a sweet, the bond opening up fully to let them all feel what the others felt. It was wonderful to share fully again and able to enjoy pleasure without it being shadowed by dark memories.

Both Seekers were nearly inordinately glad to be able to roam their servos in Starscream’s plating and feel the feedback of pure pleasure. No, they wouldn’t even suggest merging sparks, not yet. The Autobot medic gave them a lot of good advice, suggestions how to start, how to move on, how to deal with relapses and so on… and they were happy to see that it worked and Starscream slowly opened up to them again.

Like his panel, which slid aside at the ministrations of Thundercracker’s deft glossa and his spike sprang fully erect, its red-blue swirled length twitching as the glossa licked it from base to top. Starscream felt too tired and overwhelmed with pleasure to reciprocate much, but it wasn’t needed; his mates were apparently content to love him into a blazing oblivion. After all, Skywarp did promise him pampering and this definitely counted as such and Thundercracker was doing marvelous things with his glossa that made him unable to think any more. 

His moans were continuous by the time the blue Seeker took his length fully into his mouth, suckling on it like it was a rust stick and swallowing him deep into his intake. His servos did not stray towards his valve even accidentally and it was so different from the rapes that freaking out was not a danger. He was pampered and pleasured not used and abused. Skywarp was just making him even wilder by suckling alternately on his neck cords and his wingtips, making his charge grow and his frame buckle uncoordinatedly into Thundercracker’s mouth. 

He thought that it was impossible to feel more when his blue mate started a deep, strut-shaking humming around his spike while massaging it with his intake. Starscream keened into the charged atmosphere of the room and felt his charge surge even higher, impossibly high… and when Thundercracker grazed his denta lightly on his spike, he shattered. His scream was muffled by Skywarp leaning in for a kiss and he jetted transfluid into TC’s intakes before falling back to the berth and Skywarp’s lap strutlessly, sated and nearly in recharge already.

“Sweet dreams, Star…” – he heard Skywarp murmuring into his audials slightly breathlessly and Thundercracker’s deep voice joining before recharge claimed him.

Ark

Optimus Prime took a deep invent and glanced to his right where Prowl stood, nodding back to him in a way that was encouraging even in its neutrality; and to his left where Ratchet glowered. The medic thought it too early for Optimus to meet the whole crew, but he insisted, arguing that they too needed the reassurance that he was fine just as he himself. Besides the medic himself declared him fit physically and after three orns he was getting restless sitting in his quarters. In the end, Ratchet bent and gave his approval, but his unease was still perceivable. 

It didn’t exactly bolster his own confidence either. His tank trembled nervously in anticipation of the crowd that was audible in their murmuring beyond the rec-room’s doors. But he could do it. They weren’t enemy, they weren’t a threat, they were his mechs and he, as Prime was theirs. He could walk among them and not show fear. He must not show fear.

“Let’s go.” – he murmured quietly, thankful for their presence on his sides. The one he was missing from there, he tucked to the back of his processor.

The door slid aside with a hiss that nearly surprised him. The many-voiced cacophony that spilled out to the corridor just accentuated the slight noise that, for some unexplainable reason captured his attention. It took willpower to tear his attention from it and focus on the suddenly silent mech inside. 

The rec room was full to near capacity, every Autobot not on shift or able to juggle it away waiting there to see the Prime after so long. Even with the war ended he meant so much for every mech, from religious idol till personal inspiration, from the unquestionable leader till the avatar of Primus. He stepped inside, his officers moving along, staying just slightly behind to let him have the center stage.

And the center of attention as well, he noted with a faint quake inside, being inordinately glad for the facemask covering up his insecurity. The murmuring started up again as mechs took his condition in, from the smallest, polished plate until the still dim blue of his optics and passed the observations to the ones behind, their friends and colleagues in the back rows. 

He made one confident step and another, bringing him well into the rec-room, into the throng of mechs of every colour and size. A black servo extended hesitantly from the side, like wanting to ascertain that he was as solid and _there_ as he used to be. Optimus Prime answered with holding out his own servo in a silent invitation to touch and make sure. It was marginally easier, he noted if he initiated the contact.

Marginally being the operative word. The point of contact still caused him to flinch inwardly, hiding the involuntary motion with a half-turn towards the mech. He didn’t even recognize the mech’s voice and that small fact filled the Prime with a quiet dread. Was his memory as healed and whole as Ratchet said? Was Ratchet honest with him? Was it all real? But his thoughts were drowned by the mechs around suddenly speaking up.

“We are so glad to see you…”

“I prayed to Primus to…”

“You’ll be the old one soon…”

“… and you did!”

“Everyone was worried…”

“That slagger…”

The voices melted and blurred together into a cacophony again. Optimus did perceive their intent, their love and adoration, but it helped only marginally when they closed in on him and started touching. A mech beside said something that his buzzing audials didn’t quite catch but he forced himself to nod, smile and squeeze the servo slightly. It was removed then, but another touched him from nearly behind and his flinch was stronger this time. 

“Are you all right, Prime?”

He wasn’t sure who asked it. There were too many around, too close and too much contact between metal and metal, scratching and sliding and buzzing and tingling. He fought desperately for control, to prevent breaking down right there and destroying whatever respect they still held towards him. The crowd shifted and Ratchet was cut off from him and unable to reach the Prime, the only one sensing his rising stress levels with his scanners. The medic cursed as he tried to break through the well-meaning but suffocating throng of mechs between them. 

Optimus Prime felt loosing himself again. It was too much, it was too fast, Ratchet was right, he couldn’t take it, them, all of them, not so close, not so touching… he gasped a hot ex-vent from his overheating systems but reined in the reflex to fight against the oppressive touches. He clung to what he thought to be real – that they were Autobots, that they meant well, that he must not harm them.

But when he saw two large frames cutting through the crowd like icebreakers, pushing mechs aside and away roughly, clearing the space around him, he felt elation at their presence and safety in their protection. Especially from the red one.

“Frag off, all of you! Can’t you see you are crowding him?” – Sideswipe voice was rough and angry as he stood on the Prime’s side, his twin flanking him on the other, their servos pushing away the mechs who came too close none too gently.

“Stay back and keep your servos to yourselves!” – Sunstreaker added growling. Up close he saw that his twin was right and the intervention he insisted on was necessary.

They decided to stay back at first, to let others see the Prime, not wanting to impose on him after Sides spent so much time with him. But when they saw the crowd swirl around him and Sideswipe became nervous, then downright fearful and all but yelled at him through the bond to break up the crowd for the Prime was going to break down if they kept touching him. How he felt it, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure, but then, he must have picked up a lot about their illustrious leader while with him in the medbay.

It wasn’t like Optimus Prime needed defense or protection from his own mech, no. The way Sides babbled, he needed an emotional support, to know that they were there and the others were not too close. This way, he could handle the situation. Or so his twin hoped and Sunstreaker decided that they must talk about the surprisingly deep insight Sideswipe displayed suddenly. The mech was either staying far too much around Smokescreen, or… or there was something even stranger afoot.

At last Ratchet too broke through the crowd and had to acknowledge that it was the twins, and he strongly suspected Sideswipe for the instigator, who had again saved the orn. The Autobots around stood a respectable distance again, some of them wearing sheepishly guilty expressions, but the Prime was holding on to his control and even able to smile again with the red and yellow forms flanking him from two sides. 

“I understand all you enthusiasm, but I must admit it is a bit overwhelming.” - he was able to speak in a near normal voice too, which was a good sign and his field wasn’t so tight and stressed either – “I thank you all the dedication, both towards me and the peace effort. I am proud of you all.”

Ratchet marveled inwardly at the mech, shaking his helm slightly. Barely a breem ago he was near to a blind panic and now he was able to speak out to all of them and say exactly the right things that they all wanted to hear. In a voice that was as near to his old authoritative and compassionate voice as it could be, given what he’d went through. The twins at his sides stood proudly like bodyguards, like they belonged there in more ways than one… and a tiny bit of jealousy panged through the medic’s spark.

Were they… could it be that they were leaving him for another, for the Prime? Jealousy and his own love towards them aside he’d bash their helms with his biggest wrench if they dared to bring up interfacing to Optimus, or even just hinted at it. He saw how the mech reacted to the word just the other orn. There was no telling when, or if ever he’d get over those kinds of inhibitions, the mental trauma, to be able to just think of being with another mech that way. 

But he still felt a tiny bit jealous at Sideswipe’s expression and stance. The events of these past few groons suddenly swirled and came together like the puzzles the Humans were so fond of, revealing a bigger picture. Sideswipe, talking to the Prime in that incredible tone of voice. Sideswipe holding the shaking Prime in an embrace so gentle that it belied his strength and viciousness on the field. Sideswipe, hardly even leaving the Prime’s med-bay room, volunteering to be there with him all the time, uncaring of his pranks, the racetrack, his own twin, his lovers…

How could he not have seen it before?


End file.
